Unsung heroes

\

University of California • Berkeley

UNSUNG HEROES

Copyright 1921
By Elizabeth Ross Haynes

UNSUNG HEROES

BY

ELIZABETH ROSS HAYNES

NEW YORK
DU BOIS AND DILL, PUBLISHERS

1921

Dedicated

to my

Alma Mater

Fisk University

Nashville, Tennessee

CONTENTS

Chapter Page

FOREWORD 7

I FREDERICK DOUGLASS ... 11

II PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR . . 41

III BOOKER T. WASHINGTON . . 63

IV HARRIET TUBMAN .... 87
V ALEXANDER S. PUSHKIN . . 105

VI BLANCHE KELSO BRUCE . . . 117

VII SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR . . 127

VIII BENJAMIN BANNEKER . . . 153

IX PHILLIS WHEATLEY .... 167

X TOUSSAINT L'OlJVERTURE . . 181

XI JOSIAH HENSON 191

XII SOJOURNER TRUTH .... 209

XIII CRISPUS ATTUCKS .... 229

XIV ALEXANDRE DUMAS .... 237
XV PAULCUFFE 249

XVI ALEXANDER CRUMMELL . . . 263

XVII JOHN MERCER LANGSTON 269

ILLUSTRATIONS

Page

FREDERICK DOUGLASS 10

C. Thorpe

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON 62

C. Thorpe

SHE TOLD HER HEARERS THRILLING STORIES 86

Laura Wheeler

"MY CHILDREN,, CHOOSE YOUR DUTY" . . 180

Marcellus Hawkins

CRISPUS ATTUCKS SPOKE AGAINST THE

BRITISH SOLDIERS 228

Hilda Rue Wilkinson

PAUL CUFFF/S BRIG 248

C. Thorpe

Foreword

IN casting about for stories to read to a little
friend, one day I drew from the Library
"My Life and Times" by Frederick Douglass.
I knew that the book was written for grown-ups
and that it contained many pages, but I did not
know that in it was bound up a world of inspira
tion; for I had never read the book, although I
had spent five years in college and university.

This story and the other stories in "Unsung
Heroes", telling of the victories in spite of the
hardships and struggles of Negroes whom the
world has failed to sing about, have so inspired
me, even after I am grown, that I pass them on
to you, my little friends. May you with all of
your years ahead of you be so inspired by them
that you will succeed in spite of all odds, that
you will

"Go on and up ! Our souls and eyes
Shall follow thy continuous rise ;
Our ears shall list thy story
From bards who from thy root shall spring,
And proudly tune their lyres to sing
Of Ethiopia's glory."

Washington, D. C., THE AUTHOR.

April 10, 1921.

FREDERICK DOUGLASS

FEEDERICK DOUGLASS

Chapter I

FREDERICK DOUGLASS

THE ORATOR AND ABOLITIONIST
1817-1895

TUCKAHOE is the name of a plantation on
the eastern shore of Maryland. It was once
known for its worn-out, flat, sandy soil; for its
old, poorly-kept fields and fences, and for its
stupid and ignorant people. On one side of this
plantation flowed a lazy, muddy river, bringing
with it, as some believed, ague and fever.

At some distance from the river bank stood
rows of log cabins suggestive of a quaint village
whose only streets are the trodden footpaths and
whose only street lights are the moon and the stars.

The cabins all looked very much alike except
one which stood off to itself. Each one of these
cabins had a door but no window, a dirt floor, a
fence-rail loft for a bed, and a ladder by which to
reach it. And each had a clay chimney with a
broad open fireplace and just a block of wood at
the door for steps. In this little log-cabin village,
called "the quarters" lived the slaves.

Nearly every morning, just at peep of day, the
cabin doors were unfastened and people began to
stir until "the quarters" were almost like a bee-

12 ] UNSUNG HEROES

hive. Men, women, and children large enough to
work were getting ready to go to the fields nearby.
Some with their smoking clay or corn-cob pipes
in their mouths were jumping astride the bare
backs of mules or horses. Some were beginning
to ride off without a sound other than that of the
jingle of gear and the beat of hoofs. Still others
followed.

Now and then a woman hastened to the lone
cabin which stood off from "the quarters", pull
ing by the hand a child or two, or carrying them
in her arms. She tarried at this cabin, presided
over by "Grandma" Betsy Bailey, just long
enough to leave her little children and then
hastened on to the field.

Grandma Betsy, an active old fisherwoman,
fed the children just as a man feeds his pigs. After
placing the mush in a little trough, she set the
trough either down on the dirt floor or out in the
yard. Then she waved her hand to the children,
who made a rush for the trough, each with a little
piece of board or an oyster shell in his hand for
a spoon. Some of them, without seeming to rush,
tried to eat faster than the others, but Aunt Betsy
had only to cut a sharp eye at such offenders.

She never thought of trying to call any one of
them by name except her own grandson, Freder-

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 13

ick Augustus Washington Bailey. Children on
the Tuckahoe plantation were not supposed to
have names or to know about their ages. Neither
were they supposed to know the names of the
days of the week or the months of the year, or to
know anything at all about time.

Frederick thought much of Grandma Betsy's
cabin, of the eating trough, of his bed in the loft
by her side, and of the potato hole in front of her
cabin fireplace. Little thought of his age or of any
separation from his grandma ever entered his
mind. Grandma Betsy, however, spent a part of
each day thinking especially of his age and the
time when he would be separated from her.

She had already begun to picture the circum
stances of their separation. One day she said to
herself as she sat patting her foot: "Freddie is
just about seven years old now. I know old Mas
ter will soon be sending some one down from the
'Great House' for him". She waited and looked
and listened for days but no one came. She was
beginning to wonder where old Master was, when
suddenly one Friday afternoon he came down
himself and gave orders for Frederick to be car
ried away the next day. Grandma Betsy simply
curtsied, saying, "Yes sir, Master, yes sir".

On this particular afternoon she was engaged

14 ] UNSUNG HEROES

in mending her net for fishing. She finished her
task at the close of the day, and early that night
she climbed the ladder leading to the bed in the
loft of the cabin with tears trickling down her
cheeks. She lay down on her bed by the side of
Frederick, but instead of going to sleep she lay
there thinking, thinking, thinking. Finally the
comforting words of an old plantation melody
came to her mind. She began singing it to herself
just above a whisper:

A little talk with Jesus makes it right, all right.
A little talk with Jesus makes it right, all right.

Troubles of every kind —

Thank God, we always find
A little talk with Jesus makes it right.

Over and over again she sang it until she dozed
off into a light slumber. Suddenly the straws on
her rail bed seemed to stick her and the hard rails
seemed to push up through the rags and hurt her
sides. She turned and twisted and opened her
eyes, but refused to admit to herself that she was
restless until again she began to sing over and
over the melody :

A little talk with Jesus makes it right, all right.

The singing finally died away and all was quiet.

The next morning Grandma Betsy rose even

earlier than usual and went about her work. Fred-

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 15

erick also soon tumbled down from the loft with
out any thought of a bath or of changing his shirt,
for, like the other slave boys, he dressed just once
a week and that was Saturday night when he took
his bath.

On this Saturday morning Grandma Betsy
turned about more rapidly than usual and was
therefore soon ready to start on her journey. With
a white cloth on her head tied in turban style and
the stem of her clay pipe between her teeth, she
walked out, pulled and fastened the door behind
her and stretched out her hand to Frederick who
was sitting on the door-step. "Come, Freddie, we
are going away today", said she.

He looked at her and asked, "Where are we
going, Grandma?"

She simply shook her head, saying again,
"Come on son".

Accustomed to obeying, he arose and grasped
her hand but seemingly more reluctantly than
usual. Out they went.

After a time Frederick began to stumble along
as the journey lengthened, murmuring, "I am
tired, Grandma".

Grandma Betsy stopped and squatted down.
"Get on my shoulders, son", she said. Freddie
stepped behind her, placed his little arms around

16 ] UNSUNG HEROES

her neck and with her assistance scrambled up
on her shoulders with his legs about her neck.
Not another word was spoken. Grandma Betsy
rose with her burden and trudged on until
Freddie begged her to let him walk again so
that she might rest. Finally she squatted down,
and Freddie with his tired little limbs almost fell
off her shoulders.

Grandma Betsy stretched out both her arms.
"Whew!" she said.

Freddie looked at her then and placed his arms
around her as best he could, saying tenderly,
"Grandma Betsy, was I heavy? Are you tired?
I am so sorry".

They continued the journey until they reached
the home of Frederick's new master on a plantation
twelve miles away. Immediately they went into
the kitchen where there were children of all colors,
besides Aunt Katie, the cook. The children asked
Frederick to come out and play with them but he
refused until his grandmother urged him to go.
They went out behind the kitchen. Frederick
stood around at first as if afraid of the other chil
dren. Then he backed up against the kitchen wall
and stood there as if he thought the kitchen might
run away from him. While he stood there Grand
ma Betsy tip-toed out unseen by him.

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 17

One of the children came up to him and said,
"Fred, Fred, your grandma's gone!" Frederick
ran into the house as fast as he could and looked
all around for her. Not seeing her, he ran a little
way down the road and called her. She did not
answer. Then he fell down and began to kick and
cry. His brother and two sisters who had formerly
been brought there tried to pet him, and to coax
him to eat some apples and pears.

"No", said he, still kicking, "I want Grandma".
There he lay until nightfall, when Aunt Katie
came out and told him he must come in. He went
in and lay down in the corner, crying and begging
to be taken back home. The trip that day, how
ever, had made him so tired that he soon fell asleep.

The next morning he asked Aunt Katie when
Grandma Betsy was coming back to get him. She
rolled her eyes and cast such fiery glances at him
that Frederick understood and hushed. He had
thought of asking for ash-cake like that which
Grandma Betsy used to make, but her look drove
that out of his mind.

Aunt Katie was not long in giving Frederick
to understand that he was to drive up the cows
every evening, keep the yard clean, and wait on
Miss Lucretia, his master's daughter. The very
first time Frederick went on an errand for Miss

18 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Lucretia she smiled and gave him a piece of but
tered bread. He smiled, too, from ear to ear,
bowed and ran off eating and wondering how she
knew that he was so hungry. He always ran smil
ing whenever she called him. And when hunger
pinched his little stomach hard, he nearly always
crept under Miss Lueretia's window and tried to
sing like Grandma Betsy :

A little talk with Jesus makes it right, all right.
A little talk with Jesus makes it right, all right.

He knew the next line but scarcely ever had
chance to sing it before the window was opened
and a piece of buttered bread was handed out
to him.

One evening during his first summer on this
plantation the rain poured down seemingly in
sheets. He could not stand under the window and
try to sing and he had in some way offended Aunt
Katie. She stood at the kitchen table cutting bread
for the other children and occasionally brandish
ing the knife at Frederick, saying, "I'll starve
you, sir". He sat there watching the other chil
dren eat, watching Aunt Katie and still keeping
one eye on an ear of corn on the shelf by the fire
place. He did not lose his first opportunity to
seize it and slip a few grains off the cob into the
fire to parch.

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 19

While he sat there easing the parched grains
of corn into his mouth, to his great joy in walked
his own mother with a few cakes for him. She
caressed him and asked him several questions.
Seeing how nearly starved he was, she shook her
fist at Aunt Katie and laid down the law to her.
Then she tarried with her child for the last time,
and even then just a short while — for she knew
that she must again walk the twelve miles back
to her home before the overseers came out and the
horn was blown for field time.

Aunt Katie, remembering that stormy evening
with Frederick's mother, said to him one day,
"Come, Fred, and get a piece of bread. Dip it
into this pot liquor". He curtsied first, then
eagerly taking the bread, he walked up to the pot
and dipped it and his hand as well into the greasy
broth. For a few minutes he looked as though he
would eat both bread and hand but the rattling
of the dishes in his master's dining-room attracted
his attention. He hesitated a moment, then
smacked his greasy lips and bowed himself out of
the kitchen and around to the side door of the
dining-room.

Just as he reached the door of the dining-room,
a big, grey cat slid in. Frederick slid in too. Im
mediately they began to scramble for the crumbs

20 ] UNSUNG HEROES

under the table. As soon as these were gobbled up,
Frederick rushed into the yard to get some of the
bones and scraps which the maid had just thrown
out for "Nep", the dog.

Clad, winter and summer, in just a tow sack
shirt scarcely reaching to his knees, Frederick
was as scantily clothed as he was fed. On cold
winter days he often stood on the sunny side of
the house or in the chimney corner to keep warm.
On cold nights he crept into the kitchen closet
and got into the meal bag headforemost. In addi
tion to these hardships, he often saw his own rela
tives and others cruelly beaten. Burdened with
such experiences, his childish heart began to long
for another place to live.

One day, while he was in this unhappy frame
of mind, Miss Lucretia called him, saying that
within three days he would be sent to Baltimore,
to live for a while with her brother and sister, Mr.
and Mrs. Hugh Auld. "You must go to the creek
and wash all the dead skin off of your feet and
knees," she said to him. "The people in Baltimore
are clean. They will laugh at you if you look
dirty. You can not put on pants unless you get
all the dirt off", she added. Frederick made him
self busy, spending most of the three days in the

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [21

creek, and part of the three nights jumping up
to see if the boat was ready to go.

The following Saturday morning early, the
boat sailed out of the Miles River for Baltimore.
It was loaded with a flock of sheep for the market,
and a few passengers, among whom was Freder
ick. After giving the old plantation a last look,
as he thought, he made his way to the bow of the
boat and spent the remainder of the day looking
ahead. They arrived in Baltimore on Sunday
morning. After Frederick had assisted in driving
the sheep to the slaughter-house, one of the boat
hands went with him to the home of Mr. and Mrs.
Auld.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld and their little son, Thomas,
met Frederick at the door and greeted him heart
ily. "Here is your Freddie who will take care of
you, Tommy. Freddie, you must be kind to little
Tommy", said Mrs. Auld. Frederick smiled and
nodded his head. Thomas at once took hold of
Frederick's hand and seemingly wished to hurry
him into the house to see his toys.

The children played until they heard Mrs. Auld
begin to read. Frederick stopped playing to listen.
Thomas said, "Oh, come on, Freddie, let's play.
That is just Mother reading the Bible. She reads
it that way every day when Father is away".

22 ] UNSUNG HEROES

"The Bible? What is that?" asked Frederick,
looking at Thomas. Little Thomas, surprised be
cause Frederick had never seen a Bible, ushered
him into the room where his mother was reading.
Thomas knew better than to interrupt his mother
while she was reading, but as soon as she stopped,
he told her why he had brought Frederick in. Mrs.
Auld showed him the Bible, asked him a few ques
tions and sent them both out to play.

Days passed, but not one when Mrs. Auld
failed to read her Bible. Frederick became so in
terested in her reading that one day he went to
her and asked her to teach him to read. She
paused for a while as if in doubt, then she braced
up and gave him a lesson. At the end of the
lesson his little heart seemed so full of joy and
thanks that he scarcely knew what to say or do.

Mrs. Auld, seeing the situation, said, "Run
along now, Frederick. I know you are grateful.
Come in at this time every day for your lesson".
He made his way out and every day for several
days, with beaming face, he went in for his lesson.

One day when Mr. Auld came in and saw his
wife teaching the boy, he said to her in great sur
prise, "My dear, are you really teaching that boy
to read? Don't you know he will learn to write?
Then he will write a pass and run away with him-

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 23

self". She pleaded for Frederick, but Mr. Auld
beat upon the door-facing, saying as he went out,
"I will have no more of this nonsense. This must
be the end of it". Mrs. Auld dismissed Frederick
and seemingly repented of her mistake ; but Fred
erick had learned his alphabet.

Soon he managed to get a Webster's spelling-
book, which he always carried with him when sent
on errands. After this, every time he went out,
he made new friends until the very boys who at
first pounced upon him at every corner, now be
gan to help him with his spelling lessons. One
day while he was on his way to the shipyard, and
just after he had gotten a spelling lesson at the
corner, it occurred to him that the boys might
also help him to learn to write.

While he was in the shipyard, he watched the
carpenters finish pieces of timber for the different
sides of the ships and mark each piece. For in
stance, a piece for the larboard side was marked L
and a piece for the starboard side was marked S.
He soon learned for what these letters stood and
how to make them. When he went out on the
next errand, he said to the boys, "You can't make
as good an S as I can make". Such a challenge
had to be met. They all dropped down on their
knees and began the contest by making letters on

24 ] UNSUNG HEROES

the pavement. Frederick watched closely and
learned to make for the first time many other
letters. He kept at it until he learned to make
them all.

Then, thinking that he should practice on these
letters and learn to make them well, he picked
out a flour barrel, without letting any one know
what he was doing, and carried it one night into
the kitchen loft where he slept. He turned it up
side down and propped himself up to it and used
it as his desk. Knowing where little Tommy
Auld's old copy-books were, he got one out the
next day and took it to the loft. That night while
the Aulds were asleep he sat in the loft and wrote
between the used lines of the old copy-book.

His desire to learn led him into strange paths.
One day as he trotted along on his usual errand,
with the rain pelting him in the face and over the
head, he thought he spied something in the gutter.
He stopped suddenly and peeped further into
that filthy gutter. There lay some scattered pages
of the Bible. He picked them out of the rubbish,
took them home and washed and dried them
to read.

For days after that, when he went out, he kept
his eyes on the gutters for something else to read.
Finding nothing there, he bought a box of shoe

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 25

polish and a brush which he always took along on
his errands. Whenever he passed any one with
rusty boots or shoes on he said, "Shine, Mister,
shine?" By shining boots and saving up carefully,
his pennies grew and grew until he had fifty cents.
With this he bought a book called the "Columbian
Orator", which he read over and over again.

At the end of Frederick's seventh year in Bal
timore, news came that he would be taken back
to the plantation on the Eastern Shore on account
of the death of his old master. This news came as
a shock especially to him, Mrs. Auld and Thomas.
The three of them, fearing that he might never
return, wept bitterly. He was away only one
month before he was sent back to Baltimore.
Another change, however, soon took place which
called him back again to the Eastern Shore, where
he remained for two years.

He was now about sixteen years old, and had
to work very hard every day and suffer such pun
ishment that he was tired when night came. Yet
he wished so much that his fellow slaves might
learn to read that he interested a small class of
them, which he taught three nights in every week.

He also organized a Sunday-school class of
about thirty young men. This he taught under
an old oak tree in the woods until three class

26 ] UNSUNG HEROES

leaders in old master's church rushed in upon
them one Sabbath and forbade their meeting.
Later on, however, the class was again secretly
begun with more than forty pupils, many of whom
learned to read.

Frederick had been reading the "Columbian
Orator" which described the cruelties and injus
tices of slavery. He had also been thinking of
how to obtain his freedom ; but the pleasant times
with his Sunday-school class had delayed his tak
ing any action in the matter. He had not given up
the idea, however, for at the beginning of the
year 1836 he made a vow that the year should not
end without his trying to gain his freedom. He
kept the vow in mind and finally told his secret to
several of his companions, who agreed to share in
a plan to escape.

They met often by night and every Sunday un
til the day set for their escape was at hand. They
were hoping that no one would betray them, but
just at the last minute the news leaked out. The
boys were seized, dragged to town and thrown in
prison, where they remained for some time.

II

For three years after Frederick's release from
prison he worked in the fields suffering untold

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 27

hardships. The following three years he worked
in a shipyard in Baltimore learning the ealker's
trade. During these last three years his mind
was constantly running back to 1817, the year of
his birth. Realizing how the years were passing,
he was always thinking of some plan of escape.
At last he hit upon what seemed to be a real one.
With arrangements all made for his escape, he
arose early one September morning in 1838, put
on a sailor's suit which a friend had lent him and
started down to the depot just in time to take the
train. He also carried what was called a sailor's
protection, which had on it the American eagle.
A hackman, whom he knew well, arrived at the
depot with his baggage just as the train was about
to pull out. Frederick grabbed his baggage,
hopped on the train just like a sailor and took
a seat. The train moved on slowly until it reached
a certain river which had to be crossed by a ferry
boat. On this boat there was a workman who
insisted on knowing Frederick. He asked Fred
erick where he was going and when he was coming
back. He persisted in asking questions until
Frederick stole away to another part of the boat.
After a short while he reached Wilmington, Dela
ware, where he took a steamboat to Philadelphia,
and the train from there to New York City.

28 ] UNSUNG HEROES

The wonderful sights of this great city seemed
to make him forget almost everything except the
fact that he was now a fugitive slave. A few hours
after reaching New York, to his surprise he met
on the street a man whom he had known in Balti
more. This man, also a fugitive, began at once
to tell Frederick that there were men in New York
City hired to betray fugitives and that he must
therefore trust no man with his secret.

This news so disturbed Frederick, that instead
of seeking a home, he spent the night among bar
rels on one of the New York wharves. Unable to
remain longer without food or shelter, the next
day he sought out on the streets a sailor who be
friended him and then took him to the home of a
Mr. Ruggles — an "underground railroad station"
— where he was hidden for several days. During
these days his sweetheart came on from Baltimore
and they were married. On the day of their mar
riage they set out for New Bedford, Massachu
setts, where Frederick as a ship's calker might
possibly find work. Their money gave out on the
way but a "Friend", seeing the situation, paid
their fares for the remainder of the journey.

After reaching New Bedford, a room was soon
secured in the home of a very good man who liked
Frederick's face. They talked of many things,

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 29

among which was the wisdom of Frederick's
changing his name. The man said, "I have just
been reading Scott's Lady of the Lake and I
suggest that you take the name Douglass, for that
grand man, Douglass of Scotland".

"Douglass of Scotland? Who was he?" asked
Frederick. The good man began by telling the
story of the bravery in battle of Douglass of Scot
land. Before he had finished his story, Frederick
was eager to take the name of Douglass.

He had now a fine-sounding name — Frederick
Douglass — but he had neither money nor a job.
He started out seeking work at his trade but was
told again and again that the calkers there would
not work with him. Finally, he was forced to take
whatever his hands could find to do. He sawed
wood; he shoveled coal. He dug cellars; he re
moved rubbish from back yards. He loaded and
unloaded ships and scrubbed their cabins until he
secured steady work.

While he was at his work one day a young man
brought him a newspaper edited by a man whose
name was William Lloyd Garrison, of whom
Douglass had never heard before. This paper,
for which he immediately subscribed, was known
as "The Liberator". He read every word in the
issue which the agent gave him and waited impa-

30 ] UNSUNG HEROES

tiently for the next one to come. When it came,
there was in it an article about a grand convention
to be held in Nantucket. Douglass read the article
to the home people. He said that he needed
a vacation, which might well be taken at the
time of this convention. The following issue
of the paper told still more of the plans for the
convention. He concluded that he must attend it.

He went to the convention without any thought
of being known to any one or of taking any part
whatever in the meetings. A prominent abolition
ist, however, who had heard Frederick speak to
his people in a little schoolhouse in New Bedford,
sought him out and asked him to say a few words
to the convention. When he rose to speak, he was
trembling in every limb. He could hardly stand
erect.

It seemed to him that he could scarcely say two
words without hesitating or stammering, but he
went on. As he told of his experiences as a slave,
the audience was exceedingly quiet. When he had
finished, the people broke into applause and ex
citement. William Lloyd Garrison, now known
as a leading abolitionist, was the next speaker.
He spoke with feeling, taking Frederick Doug
lass as his subject. The audience sat motionless
and some people present even wept.

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 31

At the close of the meeting, another abolitionist
came to Douglass and urged him to become a
traveling agent for the Massachusetts Anti- Sla
very Society. For two reasons, he did not wish
to take such a position. In the first place, having
been out of slavery just three years, he was afraid
he could not speak well enough to travel in that
way; and, secondly, he feared that his former mas
ter might hear of him and send for him. The
abolitionist, however, unwilling to accept excuses,
urged Douglass until finally he consented to
travel for three months. Before many days had
passed he was on the road as a lecturer against
slavery.

One morning he went to Grafton, Massachu
setts, and tried to get a place to hold a meeting.
But he could not get a hall or even a church.
Nevertheless, he was so determined to speak to
the people that he went to a hotel and borrowed
a dinner bell. Soon he was seen running through
the streets like a madman, ringing the bell and
crying out, "Frederick Douglass, recently a slave,
will speak on Grafton Commons at seven o'clock
tonight".

Many came out to hear what such a strange
man could say and all left at the close of that
open-air meeting apparently more thoughtful

32 ] UNSUNG HEROES

than when they came. The next day ministers
of the large churches in that town came to him and
offered to open their doors for his meetings.

For several years he did nothing but travel and
hold meetings. He attended one hundred anti-
slavery conventions and spoke at every one of
them. During the first three or four months of
his travel he told the story of his experiences as a
slave. Then he became tired of repeating the same
old story and began to show by the manner in
which he expressed himself that he was thinking
deeply about the whole question of slavery.

"Let us have the facts. Be yourself and tell your
story", said his hearers again and again, but
Douglass said that he was tired of telling his per
sonal story. He attempted to speak against the
injustices heaped upon him and others, but his
audiences murmured, saying, "He does not talk
like a slave. He does not look or act like one ; and,
besides he does not tell us where he came from
or how he got away; and he is educated, too".

Determined to remove doubt from their minds,
Douglass wrote a narrative of his life as a slave
and had it published. Now that the story of his
life was published, friends like Wendell Phillips,
fearing he might be captured and taken back into
slavery, advised that he go to Europe. He went

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 33

and he spoke in all the large cities of England,
Scotland and Ireland. In order that he might re
turn home a free man, two women in England,
"Friends" they were, started the plan of raising
the money with which his freedom was purchased
from his old master in Baltimore.

On his return to America, he went to Rochester,
New York, and for sixteen years edited there a
paper called The North Star. So much money
was needed for publishing this paper that he even
mortgaged his home. For twenty-five years he
lived in Rochester. During those years he wrote
and lectured and conducted an "underground
railroad station" in that city.

Because of the disturbed conditions in his own
country at this time, he went to Europe again but
returned in six months on account of death in his
family. Some of the disturbances which he left
behind when he went away had subsided but
others had risen. A President of the United States
had to be elected. For a long time it seemed that
no man was the choice of a majority of the people.
Finally, Abraham Lincoln, who had once been a
rail- splitter, was elected. Douglass worked hard
to help elect Lincoln. He also took part in the
terrible Civil War, which had come as a result
of the country's disturbances.

34 ] UNSUNG HEROES

As soon as the Governor of Massachusetts is
sued the order for the many soldiers needed,
Douglass enlisted his own sons, Charles and
Lewis, from New York State, and took a leading
part in raising the Fifty-fourth and Fifty-fifth
Massachusetts Negro Regiments. The first of
these soon won fame and a name throughout the
country because of its brave attack on Fort Wag
ner in the hour of trial. In that terrible battle at
nightfall, the Fifty-fourth was fearfully cut to
pieces, losing nearly half of its officers, among
whom was its beloved commander, Colonel Shaw.
Douglass, with his son Charles as a recruiting
officer, worked steadily until the emancipation of
the slaves and the close of the war were brought
about.

He greatly rejoiced over the outcome of the
war, yet a feeling of sadness seemed to come over
him. What was he to do? He felt that he had
reached the end of the noblest and best part of his
life. He thought of settling on a farm which he
might buy with the few thousand dollars which
he had saved from the sale of his book, called
"My Bondage and Freedom", and from the pro
ceeds of his lectures at home and abroad. The
question, however, was soon decided for him. To
his surprise, invitations began to pour in upon

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 35

him from colleges, clubs and literary societies
offering him one hundred and even two hundred
dollars for a single lecture.

One of the literary societies of Western Re
serve College invited him to address its members
on one Commencement Day. He had never been
inside of a schoolhouse for the purpose of study
ing, therefore the thought of speaking before col
lege professors and students gave him anxiety.
He spent days in study for the occasion. Not be
ing able to find in our libraries a certain book
which he needed, he sent to England for it. Not
long after his address on that Commencement
Day, the thought came to Douglass that the Ne
gro was still in need of the opportunity to vote,
and thereby become a citizen. He talked about
the question and finally set himself to the task of
gaining this right for his people.

His first marked step in the matter was to gain
for himself and ten other men an interview with
the President of the United States. The discus
sion on that occasion brought the question prac
tically before the whole American public. The
next great step in gaining the ballot for the f reed-
men was taken in Philadelphia in 1866, at a great
convention called the "National Loyalists' Con-

36 ] UNSUNG HEROES

vention", which was attended by the ablest men
from all sections of the country.

Douglass's own city, Rochester, New York,
elected him to represent her. While he was
marching in the long procession through the
streets of Philadelphia, he saw standing on the
corner of Ninth and Chestnut Streets, the daugh
ter of Miss Lucretia Auld, under whose window
he had sung as a hungry slave boy. He went to
her and expressed his surprise and joy at seeing
her.

"But what brought you to Philadelphia at this
time?" Douglass asked.

She replied, "I heard you were to be here and
I came to see you walk in the procession". She
followed the procession for several blocks and
joined in the applause given Frederick Douglass
as he passed.

In that convention, resolutions were finally
passed in favor of giving the freedmen the right
to vote. Douglass was called forward to speak.
The vote passed by that convention, it is said,
had its influence in bringing about the passage of
the Fifteenth Amendment to the Constitution of
the United States.

After the convention, Douglass went to Wash
ington, D. C., as editor of a newspaper. It was

FREDERICK DOUGLASS [ 37

not long before he became what is called Elector-
at-Large for the State of New York. As such a
representative, the Republican party of that state
sent him to Washington to carry its sealed vote
which went toward electing Grant as President.
Douglass later received an invitation to speak at
the monument of the unknown loyal dead, at
Arlington, on Decoration Day.

Five years later, when he spoke at the unveiling
of the Lincoln Monument in Lincoln Park,
Washington, D. C., the President of the United
States and his Cabinet, judges of the Supreme
Court, members of the Senate and the House of
Representatives, and many thousands of other
citizens were there to listen to him, to honor the
memory of Lincoln and to show their apprecia
tion of such a gift from the f reedmen.

Douglass was appointed United States Marshal
of the District of Columbia. As Marshal he
visited the criminal courts every day to see that
the criminals received justice. There were also
high social duties attached to this office. President
Garfield later appointed him Recorder of Deeds
of the District of Columbia, at which post he re
mained- for nearly five years. In this position, he
was responsible for having recorded in the public
records every transfer of property, every deed of

38 ] UNSUNG HEROES

trust and every mortgage made in the capital of
the nation.

In 1886, two years after he was Recorder of
Deeds, he and his wife — the second Mrs. Doug
lass — made a tour through England, Scotland
and Ireland, where they met many great people
besides the children of many of Douglass's old
friends. His next and last appointment as a high
public official was to the office of Minister to Hayti.
President Harrison appointed him to this office.
The President of Hayti also appointed him to act
as commissioner for that country at the Chicago
World's Fair in 1893.

Many boys and girls who have read his books
admit that they have been inspired by the life he
lived in traveling from the log cabin on the East
ern Shore of Maryland to the high and important
offices which he held in Washington. The best
one of these books is called "My Life and Times,
by Frederick Douglass". After his death on
February 20, 1895, at his home in Anacostia, Dis
trict of Columbia, the citizens of Rochester, New
York, erected a public monument to his memory.

His epitaph has been written in his own words :
"Do not judge me by the heights to which I may
have risen but by the depths from which I have
come".

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

Chapter II

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

THE POET
1872-1906

AN elevator boy — Paul Laurence Dunbar — a
_1\_ black high-school graduate — stood for a few
moments at the entrance to his elevator. He
seemed to fix his eyes on every one entering the
Callahan Building.

The Callahan Building was a large structure
located in a busy section of Dayton, Ohio. Its
quick elevator service in spite of its limited num
ber of elevators was often a subject of comment.
The grating of the elevator cables and the thud
of the car as it stopped for passengers were con
stant reminders of the rapid service. Up and
down, up and down, went the elevator, and ring,
ring, went the bells from morning until night. As
the elevator moved upward and downward with
grating cables, Paul kept his ear turned as though
he were listening to a song.

Apparently unnoticed, day after day he ran
his elevator, stopping repeatedly first at one floor
and then another until one day a woman entered
his car and spoke to him. It was one of his former
high-school teachers. After greeting him, she

[41]

42 ] UNSUNG HEROES

eagerly told him that the Western Association of
Writers would soon meet in Dayton. Before the
short conversation was finished, she asked him to
write a poem of welcome to that association and
promised that she would arrange for him to re
cite it.

Paul's busy days seemed to come and go very
rapidly. Yet when the Western Association of
Writers met a few weeks later he had composed
his poem of welcome for the occasion. The printed
programs of the association did not contain his
name. The first day of the meeting, however,
after being excused from his elevator duties, clad
as he was, he hurried to the hall in which the ses
sions were to be held. His teacher stood in the
doorway waiting for him. He entered silently and
made his way to the rostrum and began reciting
his poem of welcome. Men and women in the audi
ence at first straightened up to look at this swarthy
lad. Then, as if suddenly struck by something in
the poem, many a one turned his ear and leaned
forward to listen. When Paul had finished, the
entire audience broke into applause. Some even
rushed forward to shake his hand.

At the close of the meeting some of the writers
looked for the boy poet but he had hurried back
to his elevator. Just at the moment when they

PAUL LAURENCE DUXBAR [ 43

were about to give up their search for him they
ran across his former high-school teacher. She,
with enthusiasm exceeding theirs, told of Dun-
bar's graduating from high-school in 1891 with
honors. She told of his composing the class-song
which was sung at the commencement exercises.
One of the writers interrupted to ask who the boy
was and what he was doing. The teacher, speak
ing hurriedly as though she had something else
important to tell first, said that Dunbar was once
editor of their high-school paper. She also told of
his writing his first poem before he was seven
years old. Then proceeding to answer the writer's
questions she said that Dunbar's mother was a
washerwoman and that he was the elevator boy at
the Callahan Building; and looking each of these
writers in the face, she added :

"Dunbar always brings and carries the clothes
for his mother".

Three of the men, after inquiring where the
Callahan Building was, started in search of it.
They found it and soon entered the elevator.
Among the first things they saw were a Century
Magazine, a lexicon, a scratch tablet and a pencil
lying on a stool. Dunbar was in the act of starting
his car when one of the men said: "No! No!
Do not go up for us ! We came simply to see you

44 ] UNSUNG HEROES

and to tell you how much we appreciated the poem
you read this morning".

Dunbar looked at them with great embarrass
ment. As he began to thank them a ring of the
elevator signal came from the top floor. With a
modest bow and a request to be excused, he took
hold of the power lever and up the elevator went
and soon down it came again.

In the midst of the conversation, constantly
interrupted by passengers entering the elevator,
one of the visitors asked, "What wages are you
getting here?"

"Four dollars a week, Sir", answered Dunbar.

"What are you doing with your money?"
asked another.

Dunbar, somewhat hesitatingly said, "Well, I
help my mother and then I am trying to buy a
little home for her, too".

"How on earth — ?"

Ring, ring, went bells on different floors. Up
went the elevator and then down it came.

Hurrying to finish his sentence, the visitor con
tinued, "How on earth did you start to buy a home
on four dollars a week? Where is your father?"

Dunbar, disturbed by so many questions and
so many bells, said hurriedly, "I bought the
home through the Building and Loan Associa-

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [ 45

tion. My father was a plasterer but he died
when I was twelve years old". As another
bell began to ring, the men said goodbye and
went away talking about the boy and pledging
each other to propose his name for membership
in the Western Association of Writers.

Dunbar seemed greatly encouraged by the
Western Association members. He had also re
ceived promises of help from others. One evening,
after a hard day on the elevator, he hurried home,
saying to his mother as he entered, "Ma, where
are those papers I asked you to save for me some
months ago?"

"What, those botany sheets?" she replied.
Dunbar failed to answer immediately. She con
tinued, "They are in that box under the kitchen
safe". The neighbors had begun to ask Mrs.
Dunbar why she was keeping all of those
papers piled on the table for so long. Seeing that
so many were noticing the unsightly stacks of
papers, she had removed them one day from the
crowded little room to the kitchen.

With a lighted lamp in his hand, Dunbar went
to the kitchen and pulled out the box. There lay
his papers, some of which he had not seen for five
or six years. He pulled a chair up to the box and
began sorting them. When he had finished and

46 ] UNSUNG HEROES

given the box a shove which sent it back under the
safe, he made known his readiness for his supper.

The next morning as he was leaving for his
work he said, "Goodbye, Ma, I'm going to see
about publishing a book today". He walked rap
idly to the Callahan Building and immediately
took charge of his elevator. As soon as his lunch
hour came he hurried to a publishing house and
asked to see the manager. He was out to lunch
but one of his assistants was called in. After look
ing the manuscript through hastily he offered to
publish it for one hundred and twenty-five dollars.
Dunbar looked at him and shook his head. Un
able to conceal his disappointment, he took up his
manuscript, bade him good-day and started out.

The business manager of the firm happened to
come in at this moment and saw Dunbar starting
out. He noticed the gloom and the disappoint
ment written on the boy's face, called him over to
his desk and asked what was the trouble. Dunbar
at first, choking with something which seemed to
cut off his words, simply handed him the manu
script, repeating as best he could what the assist
ant had said about publishing it for one hundred
and twenty-five dollars. The business manager
took the manuscript and read here and there a
poem. He questioned the lad at length about his

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [ 47

work and his home. Knowing something about
Dunbar's high-school record, he said, "You go
back to your work; the poems will be published".

He went on with his work, scarcely waiting for
the boy to thank him. Dunbar bowed, stepped
away lightly and with a broad smile on his face
hurried back to his elevator.

The hours seemed to drag and yet he worked
away until closing time came. On leaving his
elevator he went by leaps and bounds until he
reached his mother's door. With his key in hand,
he unlocked it and rushed in almost breathless,
saying, "Oh, Ma, they are going to print my
book!" As he told the story about the business
manager he laughed and cried. Mrs. Dunbar
laughed and cried too until far into the night.

As the days came and went, Mrs. Dunbar be
gan to listen with unusual interest for the ringing
of the door-bell. Finally, one morning as the snow
fell thick and fast, there was a knock at the door.
Mrs. Dunbar grabbed up her apron, wiped the
soapsuds from her hands and hurried to open it.
There stood a delivery man with a large package.

"For Mr. Paul Dunbar", said he. "By the way,
who is this Dunbar? Is he a doctor, a lawyer, a
preacher, or what?"

Mrs. Dunbar responded, saying, "Who? Paul?

48 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Why, Paul is just an elevator boy and a — a poet".
The man looked at her with squinting eyes,
glanced about at the front of the poor little cot
tage, then bade her good-day and went his way.

She made a small opening at one end of the
package and peeped at the books. Before realiz
ing what she was doing, she threw her arms around
the package and knelt down with her head resting
on it, offering a silent prayer. When finally she
returned to her washtub, she rubbed a garment
a while, then wiped away the tears which were
dropping into the soapsuds. The wash seemed
to hold her unusually long and yet, when she had
finished it, the sun was still high in the heavens.
She prepared her dinner, did her chores, then sat
down to watch and wait. Finally there came a
familiar step. She listened for a moment, then
rose and opened the door while Dunbar was feel
ing for his keys.

"See the books, Paul!" she said, pointing to
the package. They opened up the package and
stood half bent over it while Paul was reading
from the little book of poems which he had named
"Oak and Ivy". They took it to the dinner table,
looked at it, read more from it and rejoiced
together.

The next morning, as Dunbar went back to his

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [ 49

elevator, he took along some copies of "Oak and
Ivy". These he ventured to show to the passen
gers who he thought might buy a copy. His
supply was soon sold out. Greatly surprised at
his first day's success, he took more copies the
next day, and still more the following days for
over a week. In less than two weeks' time, he
walked into the office of the business manager of
the publishing house, reached into his pocket and
pulled out one hundred and twenty-five dollars.
This he placed in the business manager's hands,
adding his hearty, humble thanks. He told of his
success in selling the books on the elevator and
left the publishing-house to see a man who was
offering him a minor position in the court-house.
After serving notice on the employment manager
of the Callahan Building and assisting him in
securing another elevator boy, Dunbar left to
take up his new duties.

Within the next few days he smiled and re
joiced as he read a review of his poems in a news
paper called The Toledo Blade. A few days later
he began to receive letters from people who had
read this review. Still later, some of these people
arranged for him to give readings of his poems.

Among those who wrote him about the review
was a Dayton woman who sent a copy of "Oak

50 ] UNSUNG HEROES

and Ivy" to a Dr. Tobey of Toledo. Dr. Tobey
read a few of the poems and laid the book aside.
A few weeks later when he went to Dayton on
some business, he discovered to his surprise that
even the business men were talking about Dunbar
and his poems. On his return home, he took up
the book and sat down to read the poems again.
He sat there reading and re-reading, occasionally
stopping between poems as if he were thinking
deeply. When he had finished the book he drew
his check book from his pocket, made out a check
to Dunbar and enclosed it in a letter asking for a
number of copies of "Oak and Ivy".

When Dunbar's letter in reply, expressing his
deep appreciation for the check, was received, Dr.
Tobey seemed to be deeply moved. He wrote
Dunbar immediately inviting him to Toledo to
give a reading of his poems. The young poet read
the letter to his mother and soon began to prepare
for the trip. Night after night, until time to
go, he practiced reading some of his poems
which had not been published. Even while the
train sped along to Toledo, he sat saying over and
over to himself the words of some of the poems.

After the reading that night, Dr. Tobey and a
Mr. Thatcher, who had also helped Dunbar, shook
his hand warmly and asked about the new poems.

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [51

Upon learning that the young poet had a second
boojc ready they at once agreed to furnish the
money to publish it. Consequently, a second book
of poems called "Majors and Minors" was soon
published.

The day that Dr. Tobey received a copy of
"Majors and Minors" he was called into a consul
tation which kept him at a hotel that night. He
and a friend sat up reading this little book of
poems until midnight. Just as they had finished
and stepped up to the desk to get their keys, an
other man walked up too. He was a great actor
playing Monte Cristo at that time in Toledo. Dr.
Tobey upon being introduced to him said, "I know
you actor folks are always being bored by people
wanting you to read and give opinions of poems,
but I have something here that I wish you would
read if you will".

The actor took the crude little copy of "Majors
and Minors" and turned its pages. Dr. Tobey
asked him to read a poem entitled "When Sleep
Comes Down to Soothe the Weary Eyes". He
read it at first quietly as he leaned over the
counter. Then he read it aloud. With great ex
pression and gesture he read it a third time. He
turned to another poem and read that; then to
another and another until the clock struck one —

52 ] UNSUNG HEROES

two — three. He took out his watch and looked
at it.

"Hello!" he said, "Three o'clock in the morn
ing! Dr. Tobey, I thank you for giving me
this opportunity. In my opinion no poet has
written such verses since the days of Poe".

Dunbar soon gave up his work and went to
Toledo to sell his book. One night after a very
discouraging day, he walked into Dr. Tobey's
office to tell him his troubles. Dr. Tobey said,
"Well, my boy, how goes the battle?"

"Oh, doctor", said Dunbar, with tears stream
ing down his cheeks, "I never can offer to sell
another book to any man".

"Paul," replied Dr. Tobey, "why don't you
make up a speech?"

"Oh", answered Paul, "I have tried to do that
but my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth
and I cannot say a word".

The doctor said sympathetically, "You're no
good as a book-agent. While I was down town
this morning I sold three of your books to three
of the most prominent men in Toledo".

Dr. Tobey then advised him to send a copy of
"Majors and Minors" to the actor and author of
another play which was then being presented in
Toledo. Dunbar made several attempts to pre-

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [ 53

sent the book in person but failed in each attempt.
Nevertheless, before leaving Toledo, he saw to it
that the book reached the actor. After reading it,
the actor wrote Dunbar a most encouraging letter.
He also sent a copy of the poems to the novelist,
William Dean Howells. This well-known writer
in turn sent a full-page review of the poems to
Harper's Monthly. He described the little book
as a countrified little volume in appearance which
inwardly was full of a new world. Singular it was
that the article appeared in Harper's Monthly on
the 27th of June, 1896, which was Dunbar's
twenty-fourth birthday. After being told of the
article by a friend, Dunbar went to a newsstand
and purchased a copy of Harper's Monthly. As
he read the article, he said he knew not whether to
laugh or cry, but no doubt he did a little of each.
Hundreds of letters from all parts of the world,
even from Athens, Greece, began to pour into the
office of the publishers. Some were ordering Dun-
bar's poems, others were asking for his photo
graph and still others were asking for information
about him.

On the Fourth of July, Dunbar and his mother
went, at Dr. Tobey's invitation, to Toledo. When
they arrived at the meeting place about sixty
prominent persons from Toledo and elsewhere

54 ] UNSUNG HEROES

sat waiting to greet them. Dr. Tobey, with his
arm about Dunbar's shoulder as they walked to
wards a little ante-room said, "It has all come at
once, Paul. Mr. Howells has made you famous.
They all want to meet you now. Those who made
fun of you because of your color and your poverty
are now eager to clasp your hand. This is going
to be the testing day of your life. I hope you will
bear good fortune and popularity as well and as
bravely as you have met your disappointments
and your humiliations. If so, that will indeed be
a proof of your greatness".

Among the poems which Dunbar recited that
day was "Ships that Pass in the Night". The
audience seemed especially moved by this poem.
The most prominent man in that select group
said, "Of all things I ever heard, I never listened
to anything so impressive".

That night, after such a triumphant day, Dun-
bar, sitting alone, wrote these lines:

Mere human strength may stand ill fortune's frown ;

So I prevailed, for human strength was mine ;
But from the killing strength of great renown

Naught may protect me save a strength Divine.
Help me, O Lord, in this my trembling cause.
I scorn men's curses, but I dread applause.

During these days of public attention, the poet
visited some of the eastern cities, giving readings

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [55

of his works to audiences composed of people
from all sections. On almost every occasion, the
audience responded with loud applause and often
with bursts of laughter.

The following year, when the opportunity to go
to England as a reader of his poems presented it
self, he took advantage of it. While he was in
London, the American Ambassador arranged an
entertainment for him at which he read before
many of the foremost men and women of Lon
don. He was further entertained by prominent
clubs and prominent people. Although he was
being royally treated, he often ran away from the
public gatherings in London to his lodging place
to work on his first novel, "The Uncalled".

One day just as he was nearing the end of this
novel, he received a letter from a friend in Amer
ica asking if he would accept a place in the Library
of Congress at Washington, D. C. He wrote the
friend immediately thanking him for his interest
and assuring him that he would be glad to accept
the position if offered.

On his return to America a little later, he went
at once to Washington, D. C., where he began his
work in the Library of Congress. Among the
first things he did was to look up a home for his
mother. As soon as they were settled in their

56 ] UNSUNG HEROES

home, he began to use his evenings and all of his
spare time in writing.

For about fifteen months, he sat at his desk
nearly every evening until far into the night. One
night he wrote a friend, saying, "I am working
very hard these days, so if it is only for the idle
that the devil runs his employment bureau, I have
no need of his services". By such diligence, he
soon had published a third book of poems which
he called "Lyrics of Lowly Life".

Apparently great joy and a cessation of undue
toil took the place of his very busy days for a
while. About this time, he married a young
woman who also had written some verses. Both
she and he appeared to be very happy until he
began to be annoyed by a stubborn, hacking
cough. The dust from the library books seemed
to aggravate it so that he soon resigned his posi
tion. Thinking that a change of climate would
do him good, he made a tour of the South, giving
readings of his poems as he went.

The cough continued to trouble him. Taking
the advice of a physician, he began to prepare to
go to the Catskill Mountains. However, before
he left, another volume of poems appeared which
he had named "Lyrics of the Hearthside".
The new volume of poems seemed to give him

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [ 57

strength. He completed his preparations and set
out for the mountains. While there he worked
steadily writing poems and stories. Just as stead
ily did his cough seem to grow worse. After a
while, he began to feel that Denver, Colorado,
was the place for him. He consulted a physician
and was not long in starting out for Denver, ac
companied by Mrs. Dunbar and his mother.

The long trip seemed to tire him greatly and
yet he reached Denver in safety. After a few
days' rest, he did his best at strolling around
looking at the mountainous country. One day,
as he sat writing a friend, he said, "Well, it is
something to sit down under the shadow of the
Rocky Mountains even if one only goes there
to die".

After securing a little house in a town near
Denver, he bought an old mare, which he hitched
every morning to his buggy and drove for miles.
One day after a long, long ride over the beautiful
hills he sat down and wrote a poem about "That
OF Mare of Mine". Although he could not walk
much, he worked for hours each day until he had
finished a novel which he called "The Love of
Landry".

After spending some months in Denver, he
and Mrs. Dunbar returned to Washington, D. C.,

58 ] UNSUNG HEROES

where they bought a home and apparently settled
down. The home, however, was soon closed. He
went first to Chicago and then to Dayton, where
his mother had returned.

Although his cough was about as bad as it
could be, he was working on another volume of
poems which came out during the early winter
months of 1903 under the title of "Lyrics of Love
and Laughter".

During the seven years of his illness, he often
received his friends. Sometimes he even served
tea for them. Once a friend who had business in
Dayton called him by telephone saying that she
was coming out to see him. When she reached
his home, there he was curled up on a couch for
all the world like a small boy. He was writing a
poem just to please her. Said he on her arrival,
"Just wait a moment, I'm hunting for a rhyme".
And sure enough, in just a few moments he
handed her a scrap of paper on which was written :

TO A POET AND A LADY

You sing, and the gift of State's applause
Is yours for the rune that is ringing.

But tell me truly, is that the cause ?

Don't you sing for the love of singing?

You think you are working for wealth and for fame,
But ah, you are not, and you know it ;

For wife is the sweetest and loveliest name,
And every good wife is a poet !

PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR [59

Dunbar continued to write stories and poems
almost to the day of his death, which came on
the 9th day of February, 1906. His last poem he
never wrote down, but simply dictated to his
stenographer.

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON

Chapter III

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON

EDUCATOR, ORATOR, AUTHOR, STATESMAN
1859-1915

I
BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

EARLY one winter morning, about sixty
years ago, a big rooster began flapping his
wings and crowing — flap, flap, flap — cock-a-
doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-doo. Then a little
rooster began cock-a-doodle-doo, cock-a-doodle-
doo. Then here, there and everywhere was the
sound — flap, flap, cock-a-doodle-doo — until all
Franklin County, Virginia, seemed to have wings
and crowing apparatus.

In the midst of this flapping and crowing,
young Booker awoke, rubbed his eyes and yawned.
Then he jumped out of bed, his feet striking the
earthen floor and his teeth chattering in spite of
the blazing fire before him. The wind, whistling
through the cracks in the sides and the roof of the
cabin, evidently made the dirt floor very cold to
his feet.

He dressed quickly, having only three pieces

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64 ] UNSUNG HEROES

to put on — a flax shirt and two wooden shoes.
As the coarse shirt began to slip down over his
back, it felt so much like pin points or chestnut
burrs against his flesh, that he cried "Ouch, Ouch!"
as he straightened out the folds of his shirt. Then
he sat on the side of the bed to put on his wooden
shoes. He pulled at the pieces of rough leather
on the tops of them. He twisted and turned
his feet until they adjusted themselves as best they
could to the shape of the wooden shoes. As he
started toward the fire, the sound of his shoes —
blump, blump, blump — caused his mother to look
around.

She, being the plantation cook, had been so
busy getting breakfast for fifty or more planta
tion hands that she had scarcely noticed Booker
until now. "Good morning, son", she said, "run
out to the pan and wash your face. Ma wishes you
to get out some sweet potatoes."

Booker could not run very fast in his stiff shoes
but he went out as quickly as he could, carrying a
gourd of water in his hand. He washed his face
and soon returned with a field hoe on his shoulder.
After removing several boards from the top of
the potato hole in the middle of the dirt floor, he
began to dig into it with his hoe. First he dug
out some of the loose earth and then some of the

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 6.5

straw. He dropped down on his knees and
pulled out many potatoes with his hands. After
clearing a place for them on the hearth, his mother
covered them over with hot ashes.

With a long, flat iron she turned the burning
coals from the big skillet lids. The smell of the
corn-pone and of the roasting potatoes so tanta
lized the cat that she slid in through the cat hole in
the lower right-hand corner of the cabin wall.

Men, women and children hurried from all
parts of the plantation to snatch a bite to eat at
this little cabin. Many mouths were busy eating
corn-bread and molasses. Here and there a crust
of bread was used as a knife and fork but many
just plunged their fingers into the molasses and
bread.

Booker stood like the other children with his
tin pan while molasses was being poured into it.
He tipped the edges of the pan first this way and
then that way so that the molasses might run all
over the bottom of it.

Several months later things were all changed.
There was no need of a plantation cook, and so
Booker's mother was getting ready to go away.
One morning as some of those same roosters
flapped their wings and crowed for day, a rough
little cart rolled up to her cabin door. Booker,

66 ] UNSUNG HEROES

his brother John, and his mother hurried around,
grabbed up their few bed clothes, stools and skil
lets and threw them into the cart. "Goodbye,
goodbye", they said to their friends. And off they
started to join Booker's stepfather in Maiden,
West Virginia.

For two weeks they traveled, sleeping in the
open air and cooking their food out-of-doors over
a log fire. One night they started to camp in an
old empty log cabin. Just as the fire had gotten
well started and their pallet on the floor was
made, a large black snake fully a yard and a half
long dropped down the chimney and glided across
the floor. They ran out of the cabin and later re
moved their things from it. The next day they
continued their journey.

Early one evening, as they began to drive more
slowly in search of a good place to stop for the
night, a rider came by with his horse in a gallop
and bowed to them. Booker called out, "Mister,
how far is it to Maiden?"

The man did not stop but answered, saying,
"About two miles over the hill".

The little cart rolled on until it seemed that
they had gone ten miles over the hill instead of
two. Finally they heard men swearing and quar
reling. They saw men fighting and drinking and

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 67

gambling. Suddenly a man stepped up and
greeted them, "Hello, hello, howdy, howdy". It
was Booker's stepfather who had come to Maiden
several years before.

"Oh, what is that, Pa?" Booker exclaimed,
"over there where the light is?"

"That is only a salt furnace", he answered.
"There are plenty of them here. I have a job
waiting for you in one of them". In a few days,
just as he had been told, Booker was at his new
job in a salt furnace.

In this part of the town, in that part and all
about, people were asking each other, "Have you
heard of the school that is to open in Maiden?
They tell me that the teacher is already here and
that old folks as well as children can go to it".

This question was asked young Booker. His
eyes sparkled and his face lighted up on hearing
such good news. Then he said in an undertone,
"Oh, well, I can't go to school anyway for I have
to work all day".

When the school began there were many happy
faces, old and young. Every night Booker in
quired about the school and tried to show his
mother and stepfather how he could work and go
to school too. After a great deal of talking about
it, they arranged one night for Booker to go to

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<>8 ] UNSUNG HEROES

work at four o'clock in the morning, work until
nine o'clock, then go to school and return to his
work after school.

The next morning, at nine o'clock, Booker
started off to school on a trot. When he reached
the school-room door, panting for breath, all eyes
were turned upon him, especially because he did
not have on a hat. He hesitated a moment but
went in just the same and took a seat.

The teacher was calling the roll. "John Jones",
he called. "Present", said John Jones. "Mary
Ann Roberts", he added. "Present", said Mary
Ann Roberts. And on he went until he came to
the end of the roll.

Then he turned to Booker and asked his
name. Booker twisted and turned for a few mo
ments and said nothing, because he knew he had
no name except Booker. Suddenly he remem
bered hearing about a great man whose name was
Washington. When the teacher asked his name
again, he jumped up from his seat, and with one
hand raised, said, "My name is Booker Wash
ington". He had found a name for himself that
day. That night his mother sewed two pieces
of cloth together and made him a hat.

He seemed very happy at school. One after
noon he and his classmates — about fifteen of them

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 69

— were sitting on a long pine-log bench, rocking
to and fro and singing out their spelling lesson —
"bTa, k-e-r, baker; m-a, k-e-r, maker; s-h-a, k-e-r,
shaker". There was a knock at the door. Every
body was silent. The door opened and in walked
Booker's stepfather. He quietly explained to the
teacher that he had gotten Booker a good job
in the coal mines and Booker would have to stop
school. The next morning Booker entered a coal
mine. He hesitated a little at first about working
there because of the darkness.

In this mine one day, he overheard two men
talking of Hampton Institute. He crept along
in the darkness of the mine, close enough to hear
what they were saying. One of the men said,
"Yes, they tell me that Negro boys and girls can
work their way through that school". The con
versation continued. Booker Washington eagerly
grasped every word; and he made up his mind
on the spot to go to Hampton Institute that fall.

That fall, in 1872, with a cheap little satchel of
clothes across his shoulder, he started out for
Hampton Institute. The journey was long and
there were no through trains, therefore stage
coaches were used much of the way. Booker sat
back in the stage-coach as the horses trotted along,
counting his little money and wondering what he

70 ] UNSUNG HEROES

would do when it was all spent. Most of his earn
ings had been used by his stepfather. When there
was nothing left in his pockets, he walked some
and begged rides on wagons until he reached
Richmond, Virginia. It was late in the night and
he did not have a penny left.

He walked and begged for a place to sleep un
til he was tired out. Soon he spied a high, board
sidewalk. After looking around and assuring
himself that no one saw him, he crept under it
and slept for the rest of the night. For some days
he worked in Richmond and slept under the board
sidewalk at night.

When he had earned enough to pay his railroad
fare on to Hampton Institute, he started out
again and reached there with just fifty cents in
his pocket. He was tired ; he was hungry ; he was
dirty; he was everything but discouraged. One
of the northern teachers looked him over and was
not sure apparently that he had come to the right
place. While he stood anxiously waiting, he saw
others freely admitted to the school.

The teacher finally turned to him, saying,
"Well, come with me". He followed her to a reci
tation room. She said, pointing to the room, "You
may sweep that room". He swept the room three
times. He moved every piece of furniture and

BOOKER TAUAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 71

swept. He swept every closet and corner. He
dusted everything four times. He dusted the
wood-work around the walls. He dusted every
table and table leg. He dusted every bench.

Then he returned to the teacher and said,
"Well, I am through with that job".

She went to the door of the room, walked in and
looked into every corner and closet. She took out
her handkerchief and rubbed it over benches and
wood-work. Unable to find one bit of dirt any
where, she said, "I guess you will do to enter
this school".

His first two nights at Hampton Institute were
somewhat trying ones. Although he was thirteen
years old, he had never used a sheet on his bed;
and now there were two sheets on his bed. The
first night he slept under both of them and the
second night he slept on top of both of them.
However, with the help of older boys he learned
the right way. He paid his expenses that year by
working as a janitor. He brought in coal. He
made fires. He removed ashes. He swept and
dusted class-rooms.

Summer time came and Booker Washington
had nothing to do. He scratched his head as he
thought of selling his coat or of trying several
other plans, none of which, he feared, would work.

72 ] UNSUNG HEROES

A hotel job opened up to him. He took it and by
working hard that summer and washing his own
clothes, he saved all the money which he earned.
Several more summers and winters of hard
work came and went. Finally one June morning
in 1875, the Hampton teachers were busy deco
rating the little chapel for the commencement
exercises. People began to gather. The students
took their places. The choir began to sing. The
graduating class marched in and at the head of
the line marched a young man who was calling
himself now Booker Taliaferro Washington. He
had learned that his mother had named him
Booker Taliaferro when he was born.

II

EDUCATOR: TUSKEGEE INSTITUTE

One evening just six years after Booker Wash
ington's graduation from Hampton Institute, he
and General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, the
founder and principal of Hampton Institute,
were walking to the railroad station. General
Armstrong was talking earnestly, shaking his
head and making gestures now and then. He was
telling Booker Washington why he had asked him
instead of any other boy to go to Tuskegee, Ala-

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 73

bama. Washington was listening without saying
a word. Just as they reached the station, the
sound, t-o-o-t, t-o-o-t, rang out up the road.
Then, clang, cling, cling, chuff, che-e-e was heard.

The train stopped with a sudden jolt. Booker
Washington grasped General Armstrong's hand.
They shook like warm friends and bade each other
goodbye. The former, with his bag in his hand,
stepped upon the platform just as the bell rang
and the train began to move. He glanced out of
the window at the General, waved his hand and
sat down.

Apparently he tried to look out of the window
and forget everything but he kept thinking of
what General Armstrong had said about his work
— of his two years of teaching at Maiden, his night
school, his debating club with one of his big,
brawny boy debaters waving his hand and saying,
"Most honorable judges, I have proven to you
that the pen is mightier than the sword". He
reached into his bag and took out a picture of the
little library which he had started for the school.
He looked at it a long time, then he brought forth
a letter which a friend had written him the year he
was studying at Wayland Seminary, Washing
ton, D. C., and read that.

He placed his things back into his bag, stretched

74 ] UNSUNG HEROES

himself a little, yawned and fell asleep. Before
the break of day he awoke and read several other
letters telling of some of his experiences at
Hampton Institute: for instance, his teaching
the new Indian boys how to brush their teeth,
how to comb and brush their hair, how to wash
their hands and faces. One of the letters described
Booker Washington's work in organizing the
Hampton Institute night-school and teaching
in it.

Just at that moment, the train gave a sudden
jolt which seemed to shake him out of his deep
reverie. He straightened up and began to plan
what he would do when he reached Tuskegee.
He traveled on for nearly two days listening to
the porter call out the names of the many towns
and cities as the train reached them. At last he
heard the call, "Tuskegee, all out for Tuskegee!"
He caught up his bag and hustled out.

He looked all around ; but seeing no one looking
for him he went ahead making inquiries about
the building in which he was to open his school.
He looked here and there for several days but
the only buildings he could find for his use were
an old, dilapidated church and an old shanty with
an old chicken-house nearby.

After making arrangements for the use of these

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 75

old buildings and hiring an old mule and a little
wagon to take him over the country, he set out
and visited the country people for miles around.
He ate with them in their little log cabins. He
often used the one and only fork on the table and
passed it on to somebody else. That person used
it and passed it on to the next person. Around
that fork went until everybody at the table had
had a chance to use it. He often slept with a
family in its one-room cabin when there were so
many in that family that he had to go out of doors
to undress and dress. Still he kept on visiting
for several months until he had seen what the
people needed, and had advertised his school.

On the morning of July 4, 1881, the doors of
the old dilapidated church in Tuskegee were pulled
as wide open as the sagging walls would permit.
An old cracked bell was rung, and in walked
thirty pupils, some of whom were forty years old.
Not one was less than fifteen years old. Every
one worked hard and things went well until one
day a hard rain came. Water streamed in upon
Mr. Washington so that a pupil had to hold an
umbrella over him while he heard the recitations.

Six weeks of such teaching passed and then
another teacher, Miss Olivia Davidson of Ohio,
came to assist Mr. Washington. She taught

76 ] UNSUNG HEROES

school and gave festivals and suppers in order to
raise five hundred dollars to pay for a school
farm. All of the people for miles around wanted
to help the school. Some brought five cents ; some
brought stalks of sugar cane. Others brought
quilts.

One old lady about seventy years old, clad in
just clean rags, hobbled in one morning on a cane.
She said, "Mr. Washington, God knows I spent
the best days of my life in slavery. God knows
I am ignorant and poor; but I know what you
and Miss Davidson are trying to do. I know you
are trying to make better men and better women
of my race. I haven't any money, but I want you
to take these six eggs which I've been saving up,
and I want you to put these six eggs into the edu
cation of these boys and girls".

Mr. Washington and his assistant worked very
hard to raise the five hundred dollars and to get
the school started well. He knew how much the
farm would mean to the school. He knew also
that the students did not like clearing the land
and working the field, and so one day he planned
what he called a "chopping bee". With his ax
swung across his shoulder he led the students out
to the farm and made a challenge to outchop any
of them. The old ones chopped and the young ones

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [ 77

chopped. The boys chopped and the girls
chopped. All of them chopped but none out-
chopped their teacher, Booker Washington.

Boys and girls who look at the picture of Tus-
kegee Institute as it is today will probably say:
"My! Can this be the school for which the old lady
brought the six eggs? Can this be the school for
which the 'chopping bee' was held?"

It is really that same school. Booker Wash
ington and his assistants worked so faithfully and
well that Tuskegee Institute has received not only
the six eggs but hundreds of thousands of dollars.
The gifts had increased so that when Tuskegee
Institute was thirty-four years old it owned two
thousand four hundred acres of land, with one
hundred and eleven buildings on the grounds. In
addition to this, Tuskegee Institute had about
twenty thousand acres of land given it by the
United States Government as an endowment.
The number of students in thirty-four years had
increased from thirty to about two thousand and
the number of teachers had increased from one
to two hundred.

In the early days the school had a dark base
ment dining-room but now there is a large
dining-hall on the campus. In the early days the
few knives and forks had to be passed around

78 ] UNSUNG HEROES

among the students almost continuously during a
meal ; but now there are sufficient knives and forks
for all. Once upon a time the students used rough
boxes and stools for dining-room seats but now
there are dining-room chairs for all. In the early
days Tuskegee Institute had no kitchen. Blazing
fires were made out of doors upon which pots and
skillets were set for cooking. Many a time a girl
would step on a live coal, throw down the skillet
lid and hop away to nurse her burn for a moment ;
now there are modern kitchens at Tuskegee In
stitute.

Perhaps you have already begun to think that
Tuskegee Institute with about one hundred large
brick buildings must look like a little city. It
really does. All the buildings and the grounds
are lighted by the school's own electric plant.
Many industries such as domestic science, carpen
try and blacksmithing are taught.

The brick-making industry at Tuskegee Insti
tute is an evidence of the fact that Booker Wash
ington believed in the saying, "If at first you
don't succeed, try, try again". He and his students
of the early days made their first brick kiln for
burning bricks, but the kiln would not work. They
made a second kiln and that was a failure; a third
brick kiln with about 25,000 bricks in it fell in

BOOKER TALIAFEKRO WASHINGTON [ 79

the middle of the night just when the bricks were
nearly ready to be taken out. This seemed like
hard luck, but it appears that Booker Washington
was never in all his life wholly discouraged at
anything. He started a fourth brick kiln with the
$15 which he secured by pawning his watch. To
day 1,200,000 first-class bricks are manufactured
in one season by the students of Tuskegee In
stitute.

Every day in the year visitors go to Tuskegee
Institute from all parts of the world. They go
to the shops where the boys are busy making
wagons, buggies, cabinets and all sorts of things.
They go to the trades building where the girls
are cooking, sewing, making hats and doing laun
dry work. They go to the hospital, to the library,
to the classrooms, to the dining-hall and other
buildings. They go to the farm, to the piggery,
to the dairy farm. They go to the chapel. They
hear the students sing and see them march out.
Now and then at chapel exercises they see a girl
or a boy called out of a long line because a button
is off, or shoes are not polished, or clothing is not
neat and tidy.

These visitors go away saying to their friends
that Booker Washington was certainly a great
man. Some go to their homes far away and start

80 ] UNSUNG HEROES

schools like Tuskegee Institute. Other visitors
have been there, studied the school and gone away
to do honor to Booker Washington.

Ill

ORATOR,, AUTHOR, STATESMAN

In 1896 Harvard University, one of the great
est colleges in the country, honored Booker Wash
ington. He spoke at the University and was later
given the degree of Master of Arts. Five years
later, another great institution, Dartmouth Col
lege, invited him there and gave him the degree
of Doctor of Laws.

Wherever he spoke, people came from far and
near to hear him. He spoke once in Essex Hall
in London, England, and once at Bristol, Eng
land.

Just after the Spanish- American War, he was
the peace-celebration speaker at the Chicago
Auditorium. In the auditorium that day there
were thousands of people, among whom was the
President of the United States. And many thou
sands were on the outside trying to hear Booker
Washington speak.

In the middle of his speech he said as he walked
across the platform, "Nobody should help a lazy,

BOOKER TALIAFERRO WASHINGTON [81

shiftless person". Then he smiled, opened his eyes
wide and said, "Let me tell you this story: Once
there were two men seeking to cross a river by
means of a ferry boat. The fare across was three
cents. One of the men, who seemed to be shiftless
and lazy, said to the other, 'Please let me have
three cents to cross the ferry; I haven't a penny'.
The other man said to him, 'I am sorry not to
accommodate you, boss, but the fact is that a man
who hasn't three cents is just as bad off on one
side of the river as he is on the other' ". The audi
ence laughed and applauded.

He said further: "But let me tell you, my
friends, everybody is not like the man who did
not have three cents. Early one morning not long
ago, I was out watching my chickens and pigs.
A pig I think is one of the grandest of animals.
Old Aunt Caroline came striding by with a bas
ket on her head. I said to her, 'Where are you
going, Aunt Caroline?' She replied, 'Lord bless
you, Mr. Washington, I've already been where
I was going' ". The audience laughed again.

The singing that day lifted one up and
made one feel like marching and humming. Some
of the poor people present wept for joy, and at
the close of the meeting Booker Washington
shook hands with many of them. He seemed to

82 ] UNSUNG HEROES

understand them and to know their needs. When
he wrote his book, "Up from Slavery", much of
which was written on the train, he told how poor
he himself was once.

Dr. Washington traveled all over the North,
East, West and South. He traveled in a special
car through Arkansas, Oklahoma, Mississippi,
Tennessee, South Carolina, North Carolina, Del
aware, Texas, Florida, Louisiana, parts of Ala
bama, Georgia, Virginia and West Virginia.

His friends began to say, "Dr. Washington
looks tired. Let us send him and his wife to
Europe on a vacation". They gave his school a
large sum of money. Then they talked with his
wife, Mrs. Margaret Murray Washington, who
was a graduate of a great college called Fisk Uni
versity. She had helped Dr. Washington for some
years in his work and knew how tired he must be.
These friends talked and urged until she agreed
to go too.

All arrangements for the trip were completed.
Dr. and Mrs. Washington bade goodbye to their
friends, sailed across the ocean, and for three
months went here and there through Holland,
Belgium, France and England. He crossed the
ocean a second time and then a third time. On
these trips kings and queens entertained him and

BOOKER TALIAFEKRO WASHINGTON [ 83

honored him. In his own country, presidents of
the United States called him in to talk over im
portant matters.

Following one of his trips abroad, he wrote a
book called "The Man Farthest Down", in which
he told many sad stories about the poor and igno
rant of Europe. He wrote about the women whom
he saw in Europe hitched with oxen ploughing
the fields. Among his other books are: "The
Future of the American Negro", "A History of
the Negro" and "Working with the Hands".

He worked hard and seemed to hammer out
success in everything. No one called him con
ceited and yet he had great confidence in himself
even to the last. When the doctors in New York
told him that he had but a few hours to live, he
said, "Then I must start now for Tuskegee".
He was a very sick man and could hardly walk
when he reached the station but he refused to be
carried to the train in an invalid's chair. For
many hours the train sped southward before it
reached Cheehaw, the junction station for Tus
kegee. A smile came over his face as he drew
near the school.

However, he did not live many hours after
reaching home. It had been his custom to rise
early every morning, and so early in the morning

84 ] UNSUNG HEROES

on the 14th of November, 1915, Booker T. Wash
ington, the chieftain and the servant of all peo
ples, rose and departed to the land of the blessed.
For the next few days, the Tuskegee Institute
grounds, even as large as they are, were almost
packed with people from near and far. The poor,
uneducated people, black and white, from the
cotton fields of Alabama were there. Statesmen,
scholars, editors, professional men, business men
and just men were there. His wife, his two sons
and his daughter were there. Many of those who
were present said that the mind of the thinking
world was there, for Booker Washington was re
garded as one of the greatest men that ever lived.

HARRIET TUBMAN

sur roi i> HKK mwuKKs THKU.I IM; STOKIKS.

Chapter IV

HARRIET TUBMAN

THE MOSES OF HER PEOPLE
1820-1913

ABOUT one hundred years ago, people in
every civilized country were talking about
the "underground railroad" in the United States.
The "underground railroad" was not really a
railroad under the ground, but a secret way by
means of which slaves escaped from their masters
in the South and reached free territory. Reaching
free territory sometimes meant escape from this
country into Canada. Passengers, those seek
ing to escape to free territory, on the "under
ground railroad" were led by very brave and dar
ing conductors. Among these conductors there
was a woman whose name was Harriet Tubman.

When Harriet was born in Dorchester County,
Maryland, in 1820, she was named Araminta
Ross. After she grew up, she called herself Har
riet. When she became a woman she was married
to John Tubman and was called Harriet Tubman.

Harriet almost died with the measles when she-
was six years old. Soon after she recovered from
this, her master threw a heavy weight at her and

[87]

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injured her skull. For years she suffered from
pressure on her brain which caused her to fall
asleep at any time, wherever she was, whether she
was seated on a rail fence or in a chair. It also
caused her to stagger sometimes as she walked.
No one except her African mother seemed to care
for her or to pay any attention to her.

Early one morning a lady came driving up to
the home of Harriet's master, who met her at the
gate and inquired what he could do for her. She
asked for a slave-girl to care for her baby, but
offered very low wages. The master shook his head,
saying, "I can not furnish you a girl for that".
As the lady pleaded with him, he stood looking on
the ground and knitting his brow. Suddenly he
lifted his head and said, "Yes, I have just one
girl whom you may take; keep your eye on her
because she may not have all that is coming to
her". Harriet was called, placed in a wagon and
driven away to the lady's home.

The first thing the lady gave her to do was to
sweep and dust the parlor. Harriet cautiously
tiptoed into this wonderfully fine room, amazed at
everything she saw. She finally began to sweep
in much the same way as she had swept her
mother's cabin. As soon as she had finished sweep
ing, she took the dusting cloth and wiped off the

HARRIET TUBMAN [ 89

chairs, the table and the mantel-piece. The parti
cles of dust, still flying here and there over the
room, soon settled on the furniture again.

About this time, Harriet's new mistress stepped
in and began to look around. The dust lay on the
table, the chairs and the mantel in such a thick
coating that she spoke very harshly to Harriet
and ordered her to do the work all over. Har
riet swept and dusted just as she had done
before. The dust, having no other place to go,
settled again on the furniture. The mistress en
tered the parlor again, bringing with her this time
a whip. With this she lashed Harriet with a
heavy hand. Five times before breakfast that
morning Harriet swept and dusted the parlor.

Just as she had gotten her third whipping, her
mistress's sister, who had been awakened from her
morning slumber, opened the parlor door. "Why
do you whip the child, sister, for not doing what
she has never been taught to do?" she asked.
"Leave Harriet to me for a few minutes and you
will see that she will soon learn how to sweep
and dust a room."

The sister ordered Harriet to open the win
dows first, to sweep the room and leave it a while
until the dust settled, and to return then and wipe
the dust from the furniture.

90 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Harriet looked strangely at the big window,
went to it and raised it inch by inch until it was
high enough to fasten by a latch. She set in again
and swept, and while the dust was settling, she
went out and set the table for breakfast. Then
she returned and dusted the parlor.

That night she was ordered to sit up and rock
the baby. The baby's cradle and Harriet's chair
were placed near her mistress's bed. Occasionally
Harriet's eyelids dropped and her head bobbed
this way and that way. The cradle kept on rock
ing because her foot was on the rockers. Once in
a great while, the cradle would stop and the baby
would begin to cry. The mistress would pick up
her whip and give Harriet a cut across the head
and shoulders which would make her jump and
almost knock the cradle over.

Under such treatment, Harriet became so worn
and thin that the lady sent her back to her master
saying that she wasn't worth a six-pence. Har
riet was turned over to her mother, who nursed
her until she was again strong enough to work.

She was then hired out to a man who made her
plow, drive oxen, lift a barrel of flour, and some
times cut a half cord of wood a day. Soon she
became ill again. She lay on her sick-bed from
Christmas until March. Day after day she prayed,

HARRIET TUBMAN [91

saying, "Oh, Lord, convert old Master; change
that man's heart and make him a Christian".
When some one told her that as soon as she was
able to work, she would be sent away, she changed
her prayer, saying: "Lord, if you are never going
to change that man's heart, kill him, Lord, and
take him out of the way, so he will do no more
mischief". Harriet's master finally died but she
continued ill for a long time.

Even after she became stronger she still prayed
at every turn. When she went to the horse-trough
to wash her face and hands, she said, "Lord, wash
me and make me clean". When she took the towel
to wipe them, she cried, "O Lord, for Jesus' sake,
wipe away all my sins". When she took up the
broom to sweep, she groaned, "O Lord, whatever
sin there is in my heart, sweep it out, Lord, clear
and clean".

Early one morning many of the slaves in the
"quarters" hurried about with a scared look on
their faces, whispering something to each other
as they passed. The news had leaked out that
Harriet and two of her brothers were to be sold
and sent the next day to the far South. As soon
as the news reached Harriet, she held a hurried
consultation with her brothers, telling them of
the terrible things that would befall them if they

92 ] UNSUNG HEROES

did not run away to the North. As they stood for
a while looking about anxiously and ready to
move on, they agreed to start for the North that
night.

Harriet began to scratch her head and wonder
how she might tell her friends that she was going
away. She thought and thought, and finally hit
upon the plan of telling them in an old familiar
song. As she was passing the next cabin door she
sang out :

When that old chariot comes,
I'm going to leave you;
I'm bound for the promised land.
Friends, I'm going to leave you.

I'm sorry, friends, to leave you,
Farewell ! Oh, farewell !
But I'll meet you in the morning !
Farewell ! Oh, farewell !

She looked forward and backward and all
around several times. No overseer was in sight.
She continued to sing, casting a meaning glance
at first one and then another as she passed along:

I'll meet you in the morning,
When you reach the promised land,
On the other side of Jordan,
For I'm bound for the promised land.

That night Harriet and her brothers spoke for
a while in a whisper to their father and kissed him

HARRIET TUBMAN [ 93

good-bye. Without disturbing their dear old
mother, each started out quietly in slightly dif
ferent directions, but all towards the same place.
Soon the three came together. The brothers be
gan to say to Harriet in very low tones that they
were afraid that old master would send men out
for them and capture them. They stood trem
bling with excitement. All at once, one of them
and then the other broke away and ran towards
home as fast as they could, falling now and then
over a log or a stump. Harriet stood watching
them as long as she could see their shadows in the
starlight.

Fixing her eye ori the North Star, she turned
her face in that direction and went forward. All
night long she walked until the peep of day, then
she lay down in the tall grass in a swamp. She
lay there all day. The next night she started out
again. Night after night she traveled, occasion
ally stopping to beg bread. She crouched behind
trees or lay concealed in a swamp during the day
until she reached Philadelphia.

On her arrival in Philadelphia she stared at the
people as they passed. She stood gazing at the
fine houses and the streets. She looked at her
hands, believing that they, too, looked new. After
finding a place to stay, she walked out among the

94 ] UNSUNG HEROES

better looking houses and began to ask from door
to door if any one was needed for work. Finally
a woman came to the door, opened it just a little
way and peeped out as though she were afraid.
As Harriet was asking for work, the lady told
her to wait a moment while she ran back and
pushed her frying-pan further back on the stove.
She appeared again at the door, questioned Har
riet and then told her to come in.

Harriet walked in and stood listening to the
lady's instructions about cleaning. Then she
raised the windows and began to sweep. She
swept and dusted and cleaned all day. She worked
hard the next day and every day until pay-day,
when she received her first money. She hid it
away with great care and continued her work.
The following pay-days she went to the same
spot and hid away every penny of her money
until she felt that she had enough to go back
South.

She gave up her work and traveled night after
night until she was again back on the plantation.
She hid around among the slaves in their cabins.
She whispered to them thrilling stories of the free
country, until even women with babies were get
ting ready to follow her back to the North. After
drugging their babies with paregoric and placing

HARRIET TUBMAN [ 95

them in baskets which they carried on their arms,
they set out with "Moses", as they called her, for
the free country.

They forded rivers, climbed mountains, went
through the swamps, threaded the forests with
their feet sore and often bleeding. They traveled
during the night and kept in hiding during the
day. One of the men fell by the wayside. Harriet
took out her pistol, and pointing it at his head,
said, "Dead men tell no tales; you go on or die!"
He arose trembling and dragged along with the
party until they reached the North.

As soon as Harriet had landed this party, she
began working again and making preparations
to go back on her next trip. One night she went
back to the plantation, secured a horse and a two-
wheel cart and drove away with her aged mother
and father. After placing them on the train, she
traveled in the cart night after night until she
made her way through Maryland to Wilmington,
Delaware, where she had sent her parents.

As soon as the three of them met in Wilming
ton, Harriet took her parents to a well-known un
derground railroad station. This was simply the
home of a Quaker friend. He gave them food
and shelter and each a new pair of shoes. He fur
nished Harriet with money to take her parents

96 ] UNSUNG HEROES

on to Canada, and kept the horse and cart for
sale. Harriet and her parents went on, making
their way with difficulty, until they reached
Canada.

Harriet remained in Canada for a short time
only, then slipped back among the plantation
cabins in Maryland. Again and again she went
back — nineteen times — leading away in the dark
ness, in all, over three hundred slaves. The slave
masters of that region in Maryland, whence so
many were being stolen away, after trying hard
to catch Harriet, offered a reward of $40,000 for
her, dead or alive. They posted such a notice in
all public places.

After fifteen years of such adventure, Harriet
bought a little home place near Auburn, N. Y.,
and settled on it with her dear old parents. Fre
quently responding to a knock at the door, she
arose and found that some one had brought to her
a poor, old, homeless person. Without hesitating
to ask many questions, she took in every one of
them until she had twenty old people, for whom
she worked and sought support.

William H. Seward, Governor of New York,
once said to her when she went to him for aid,
"Harriet, you have worked for others long
enough. If you would ever ask anything for your-

HARRIET TUBMAN [ 97

self, I would gladly give it to you but I will not
help you to rob yourself for others any longer".

Many years after that, Governor Seward died,
and a large number of persons gathered at his
funeral. Many very beautiful flowers were re
ceived by his family on that sad occasion. On the
day of the funeral, just before the coffin was
closed, a woman as black as night stole quietly
in and laid a wreath of field flowers at his feet
and as quietly glided out again. Friends of the
family whispered, "It's the Governor's friend,
Harriet".

Harriet continued to work and take in homeless
old people until the outbreak of the Civil War.
At that time, Governor Andrew of Massachu
setts sent for her. He asked if she would go
South as a spy and a scout, and if need be, a
hospital nurse for the Union soldiers. She stood
thinking for a moment, then said that she would
go. He bade her return home and be ready at a
moment's notice. Harriet left his office and re
turned to Auburn. She went about asking friends
to look out for the old people in her home while
she was away.

Soon after she reached home, a messenger ar
rived with orders for her to report immediately.
She hastily grabbed a few necessary things, kissed

98 ] UNSUNG HEROES

her parents, saying good-bye to them and to the
inmates of the home, and hurried away to join the
company of soldiers on its way south. They trav
eled several days. As soon as they arrived, Har
riet was ordered to act as a scout and a spy for
the soldiers. She took charge and led them
through the jungle and the swamp. She ap
proached the frightened slaves, often gaining
valuable information from them. She stood in the
battle-line when the shots were falling like hail
and the bodies of dead and wounded men were
dropping like leaves in autumn.

Being called upon to nurse the soldiers in the
hospitals, she extracted from roots and herbs what
she called a healing substance. As she went to a
sick soldier and felt his burning forehead, she
often poured out a spoonful of her medicine and
placed it in his mouth. After a few days of such
treatment frequently a soldier smiled at her and
thanked her.

She often bathed the wounds of soldiers from
early morning until late at night. She nursed
many with smallpox. Occasionally, after a long
day's toil, she went to her little cabin and made
fifty pies, several pans of ginger-bread and two
casks of root-beer. One of the men went through
the camps selling these things for her. Almost

HARRIET TUBMAN [ 99

as soon as she obtained the money from the sale of
them she mailed it on to her old parents for the
support of their home.

Once while Harriet was on this trip she went
with some gunboats up the Combahee River. The
frightened slaves along the way left their work
and took to the woods. Some of those who fled
peeped out from behind trees at the gunboats
and ran away like deer when they heard the sound
of the steam whistle. One old man said, "Well,
Master said the Yankees had horns and tails but
I never believed it till now". Eight hundred of
these people were taken on board the gunboats to
be carried to Beaufort, S. C. Some of them be
fore going aboard grabbed from the fire and
placed on their heads pails of smoking rice.
Others had on their backs a bag with a pig in it;
and some carried two pigs in their bags.

Soon after this trip Harriet returned to her
little home place, which was about to be sold to
pay off a mortgage. A friend, the daughter of
a professor of Auburn Theological Seminary,
hearing of Harriet's trouble, came to see her.
Harriet greeted her friend as usual and invited
her to sit down; she too sat down and began to
tell about the war. Her friend listened for a long,
long time but finally interrupted her to ask about

100] UNSUNG HEROES

the home and the mortgage. Harriet, concealing
nothing from her, told her the exact conditions of
the mortgage.

The friend suggested the idea of having her
life story written as a means of getting money
to pay off the mortgage. Harriet nodded her
head in full agreement with what her friend was
proposing and asked if she would write the story.
The friend counted aloud the days before the
mortgage had to be paid off and, realizing that
they were not many, set herself at once to the task
of writing the story of Harriet's life.

Harriet sat with her friend day after day, each
time telling of some incident in her life which she
had not told before. The story was finally finished
and published, and from the proceeds of it the
mortgage was paid off.

Harriet worked hard, saying all the time that
she wished to free the home of debt so that she
might give it to her race to be used as an Old
Folks' Home. When the property was almost
free of debt and there were twenty aged women in
the home, she went among them with a smile
dividing the little she had, until she was stricken
with pneumonia and died.

Following her death, the Harriet Tubman Club

HARRIET TUBMAN [ 101

of New York City, together with the whole Em
pire State Federation of Negro Women's Clubs,
erected to her memory a handsome monument.
This monument is in the form of a shaft. One of
the principal designs on this shaft is in the form
of three oak logs out of which flowers are growing.

The citizens of Auburn held a memorial meet
ing for her at the Auditorium Theatre. Booker
T. Washington, the mayor and the ex-mayor of
Auburn were the speakers on that occasion. The
lower floor of the theatre was filled and every box
was occupied. In one box sat a group of Civil
War veterans and in another sat the leading so
ciety women of Auburn. On the stage sat the
Auburn Festival Chorus and Orchestra and the
guests.

In the presence of this audience, Harriet Tub-
man's grand-niece unveiled a large bronze tablet
— the gift of the citizens of Auburn to the memory
of Harriet Tubman. In accepting this tablet, the
mayor of the city said, "In recognition of Harriet
Tubman's unselfish devotion to the cause of hu
manity, the city of Auburn accepts this tablet
dedicated to her memory".

The tablet was placed in the county court-house
with the following inscription :

102]

UNSUNG HEROES

IN MEMORY OF

HARRIET TUBMAN

Born a slave in Maryland about 1821

Died in Auburn, N. Y., March 10, 1913

Called the "Moses" of her people during the Civil
War. With rare courage, she led over 300 Negroes
up from slavery to freedom, and rendered invalu
able service as nurse and spy.
With implicit trust in God, she braved every
danger and overcame every obstacle; withal she
possessed extraordinary foresight and judgment,
so that she truthfully said, "On my underground
railroad I never ran my train off the track and I
never lost a passenger."

ALEXANDER SERGYEYEVICH PUSHKIN

Chapter V

ALEXANDER SERGYEYEVICH PUSHKIN

POET AND DRAMATIST
1799-1837

ONCE upon a time there lived in Moscow,
Russia, a little boy whose name was Alexan
der Pushkin. Sometimes people would look at
him and whisper, "Is he not homely? He is
just like his great-grandfather. His great
grandfather, Abram Hannibal, an African, was
captured on the shores of Africa and brought to
Constantinople as a slave. Abram Hannibal's
son, Hannibal, who was Pushkin's grandfather,
was a distinguished Russian general during the
reign of Katherine II".

Pushkin's mother often looked at him as he sat
in a sort of stupor and pitied him. His father
would come into the house, kiss the other children,
and pay no attention to him. His grandmother
and his nurse often wondered why he would not
run and play like the other children. Sometimes
his nurse would take him by the hand and spin
around the room while she sang to him.

One day after such a spin, his grandmother
called out, speaking in no uncertain tones, "Alex-

[105]

106 ] UNSUNG HEROES

ander, Alexander, come here!" As he approached
her in a sleepy fashion, she said, "Not awake yet!
Oh, if I could be a bear just for a moment, I'd
make you run — Boo!" she added, as she jumped
at him. He laughed and tore around the room
like a little pony. She looked on in great surprise.

He ran and ran until he was all tired out, then
he rushed up to her, grabbed her about the waist,
saying, "Tell me about the three hundred and
fifty big lobsters again, please, grandmother".

"Sit down then. If you will listen now, I may
tell you about many other things which I have
seen in Russia", she said.

She began, "In St. Petersburg, which is the
capital of Russia, there is a large palace called
the Winter Palace. This palace is the largest
building in Europe. In it there are large rooms
called state rooms. The walls of these rooms are
covered with gold plates and dishes. There are
also five hundred other rooms. The ballroom
holds five thousand guests, allowing a place for
the musicians and space for dancing. Sometimes
great suppers are prepared for the balls.

"At one of these balls, once upon a time, the
waiters brought in three hundred and fifty dishes
of chicken, each dish containing three chickens
with salad and jelly; three hundred and fifty large

ALEXANDER SERGYEYEVICH PUSHKIN [ 107

lobsters, with mayonnaise sauce; three hundred
and fifty tongues ; three hundred and fifty dishes
of cold meats; three hundred and fifty dishes of
ices ; three hundred and fifty dishes of creams and
jellies; several hundred gallons of soup of differ
ent kinds, and two thousand bundles of asparagus
boiled for the salads. In addition to this, they
brought in cakes, biscuits, fruit and wine".

"Whew! The people must have burst after eat
ing all of that!" exclaimed Alexander.

"Listen, now", continued his grandmother.
"Then there is in this palace one room with eight
pairs of doors made of tortoise-shell, trimmed with
gold. There is also a picture-gallery containing
some of the finest works of art. There is a museum
in which all sorts of relics are found — even the
stuffed horse and dogs of Peter the Great. Here
and there among the state rooms there are winter
gardens. And in one of these gardens, there are
hundreds of canary birds flitting among the palms
and over the fountains of gold-fish. There are
writing tables and presses which on being opened
play beautiful tunes."

"Can anybody open these tables, grand
mother?" Alexander asked.

"No", she said, "only by special permission can
people enter the palace."

108 ] UNSUNG HEROES

"Is all of this really true, grandmother?" Alex
ander asked again.

"Yes, indeed", his grandmother said.

They sat for a few moments without saying a
word. Alexander nestled closer to his grand
mother and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled and,
shuddering a bit, said: "But oh, the poor people
of Russia ! They live in two-room cabins. In one
of these cabins sometimes as many as eleven older
people and twenty-five children live. They actu
ally knock each other down many times in moving
about the cabin. One of the rooms usually has in
it a stove, a table, a wooden bench, two chairs, and
a lamp, if the family is not too poor to have it.
The other room often has in it no furniture at all.
The father and mother and as many of the chil
dren as can be fitted on top of the stove, sleep
there. The others use pillows and lie on the floor
in their clothing". She stopped talking, listened
for a moment, then said, "I hear the nurse coming.
I must go now".

She rose. Alexander caught her by the hands.
She said, "Next time, grandmother will tell you
more. She will tell you about a great big bell
which weighs nearly four thousand pounds. At
least forty men can stand under it. Let me go".

Alexander was really awake now. He stretched

ALEXANDER SERGYEYEVICH PUSHKIN [ 109

his eyes and said, "Oh — Oh, forty men under one
bell, whew!"

His grandmother hurried out, found the nurse
and told her how wide-awake Alexander seemed.
The nurse gleefully took out a little book and
wrote: "Alexander wakes up in the year 1807,
when he is eight years old". She went for him
and took him for a walk. Much of the time, he ran
ahead of her, playing and calling back to her.

From this time on, he read books, among which
was his uncle's book of poems. At the age of ten
he began to write poems and little plays himself.
His father, deeply interested in him now, sent him
at the age of twelve to a very expensive school
which only the sons of the nobility could attend.

Young Pushkin began at once to criticise the
school and the teachers. He read in the library
and wrote poems the greater part of each day.
His first poems were published when he was fif
teen years old. Soon after this, he began to edit
the school paper and further neglect his studies.
During his six years in this school, his reports
were entirely unsatisfactory to his parents.

On leaving school, he became a clerk for the
Russian Government. He mingled in the gay
est society and soon offended the government by
writing a poem called "Ode to Liberty". He

110 ] UNSUNG HEROES

was immediately hurried far away to Southern
Russia. One day, on his way to a neighboring
town in Southern Russia, he met a band of
gypsies whom he joined, and with whom he trav
eled for a while.

Pushkin soon offended some one in Southern
Russia, and had to be sent to his father's estate,
in a still more remote part of the country. His
father did not even permit him to associate with
the other children. However, he spent his time
during these two years in this far-away section
writing poetry.

After returning to St. Petersburg, he went to
a ball one evening, and there met a young girl
fifteen years old, with whom he danced. They be
gan to correspond, and three years later were
married. Pushkin was then receiving a salary of
$2,550 a year. He and his wife entertained lav
ishly and wore the best of clothing; therefore he
had to borrow a great deal of money. His anxiety
about money seemed to haunt him to the extent
that all inclination to write poetry fled.

He and his brother-in-law engaged in many
quarrels. Pushkin finally challenged him to a
duel, His brother-in-law accepted. On the eighth
of February, 1837, they met face to face, each
with a sharp weapon in his hand. Each made
a thrust at the other. The brother-in-law jumped

ALEXANDER SERGYEYEVICH PUSHKIN [111

aside, warding off the blow, but Pushkin fell
writhing, with the blood streaming from his
wound. Two days later he died in St. Petersburg.

After his death the Czar of Russia furnished
$76,500 to publish his works and to pay off his
debts. A great celebration was held at Moscow
in 1880 in memory of him. It was said to be the
greatest event in Russian literary history. Dur
ing this celebration, a statue of Pushkin, the
great national poet of Russia, was erected at
Moscow.

His greatest poem bears the title "Eugenie
Onyegin" and his greatest drama is "Boris

Godunoff".

THE BIRDLET

(Translated from the Russian by IVAN PANIN)

God's birdlet knows

Nor care, nor toil;

Nor weaves it painfully

An everlasting nest.

Thro' the long night on the twig it slumbers ;

When rises the red sun

Birdie listens to the voice of God

And it starts, and it sings.

When Spring, Nature's Beauty,

And the burning summer have passed,

And the fog, and the rain,

By the late fall are brought,

Men are wearied, men are grieved,

But birdie flies into distant lands,

Into warm climes, beyond the blue sea:

Flies away until the spring.

112 ] UNSUNG HEROES

WINTER MORNING

(Translated from the Russian by IVAN PANIN)

Frost and sun — the day is wondrous !
Thou still art slumbering, charming friend.
'Tis time, O Beauty, to awaken:
Ope* thine eyes, now in sweetness closed,
To meet the Northern Dawn of Morning.
Thyself a north-star do thou appear !

Last night, remember, the storm scolded,

And darkness floated in the clouded sky;

Like a yellow, clouded spot

Thro* the clouds the moon was gleaming —

And melancholy thou wert sitting —

But now . . . thro' the window cast a look

Stretched beneath the heavens blue —
Carpet-like magnificent —
In the sun the snow is sparkling;
Dark alone is the wood transparent,
And thro' the hoar gleams green the fir,
And under the ice the rivulet sparkles.

Entire is lighted with diamond splendor

Thy chamber . . . with merry crackle

The wood is crackling in the oven.

To meditation invites the sofa.

But know you ? In the sleigh not order why

The brownish mare to harness?

Over the morning snow we gliding,
Trust we shall, my friend, ourselves
To the speed of impatient steed;
Visit we shall the fields forsaken,
The woods, dense but recently,
And the banks so dear to me.

ALEXANDER SERGYEYEVICH PUSHKIN [ 113

THE GYPSIES

(Translated from the Russian by IVAN PAXIN)

Over the wooded banks,
In the hour of evening quiet,
Under the tents are song and bustle
And the fires are scattered.

Thee I greet, O happy race!

I recognize thy blazes,

I myself at other times

These tents would have followed.

With the early rays to-morrow
Shall disappear your freedom's trace,
Go you will — but not with you
Longer go shall the bard of you.

He alas, the changing lodgings,
And the pranks of days of yore
Has forgot for rural comforts
And for the quiet of a home.

BLANCHE KELSO BRUCE

Chapter VI

BLANCHE KELSO BRUCE

SENATOR — REGISTER OF THE U. S. TREASURY
1841-1898

ON the first day of March, in the year 1841,
a little slave boy started out from Farmville,
Virginia, on a journey. The strange thing about
it was, he did not know where he was going or how
long the journey would take. However, he started
out and traveled west and south and east and
north for fifty- seven long years.

After his first few years of experience on the
road, he reached Brunswick, Missouri. The man
ager of a little printing office in the town offered
him a job which attracted him. He accepted it
and remained in Brunswick some years, assisting
on a printing-press as a "printer's devil".

At the noon hour, one day, he sat with his head
buried in a newspaper. Some one said, as he
slapped Bruce on the back, "Hello, Branch, what
are you doing way out here?" Bruce seemed
greatly surprised to hear some one call him
Branch, for he had long ago changed his name to
Blanche. He raised his head and looked all
around but did not see any one, and so he went

[117]

118] UNSUNG HEROES

on with his reading. After a short time, "flap"
went a sound. Something had slapped him on the
back of his neck.

He jumped up and looked around but still did
not see any one. Then he said in a loud voice,
"Who are you, anyhow? Stop slapping me".
And with that, he sat down again.

A little shrill voice answered, "Yes, you are out
here working on a printing-press. I've been fol
lowing you. You came all the way from Virginia.
What do you know about a printing-press? In
the early days no one at all could do any printing
in your state, because the state did not allow it".

Blanche Bruce scowled and frowned and looked
all around but did not see any one. And so he
shouted out, "Oh hush ! I've been reading all about
printing. In the early days none of the American
colonies encouraged printing. Some of the print
ers were even arrested for printing. For thirty
years Cambridge, Massachusetts, was the only
place in America where printing was done, and
that was controlled by the Government. Now,
you shut up!" After that, he arose and went in
to begin his work.

For years, Bruce says, he heard no more of the
little voice, but he could not forget that experi
ence. In spite of it, he worked in Brunswick until

BLANCHE KELSO BRUCE [119

he decided to move on to Lawrence, Kansas. By
this time, of course, he had grown a great deal in
height and size. His love for books had not waned,
and his experience in the Civil War had taught
him a great deal.

Seeing that the few Negro children in Law
rence were ignorant, he opened a school for them,
but finding later that there were more children in
Hannibal, Missouri, who needed a school, he went
there and began teaching.

Bruce kept on thinking and moving until one
day, in the year 1866, he found himself at Ober-
lin, Ohio, sawing wood. "Whew! I am so tired,
I believe I'll sit down on this log and rest a while",
he said to himself, as he wiped the perspiration
from his forehead with his hand. No sooner had
he sat down, than "flap" went something across
his back. He jumped up, looked all around and
said to himself, "That's strange!"

"Yes, it is strange", said a little shrill voice,
"but I've been following you all the time. I hear
you are out here sawing wood to keep yourself in
Oberlin College. Just keep at it".

Bruce seemed really disturbed now, for this
voice sounded exactly like that one in Brunswick,
Missouri, years before. Said he in a gruff voice,
"I don't know what you are, but get on away or

120 ] UNSUNG HEROES

I'll saw you". He finished his sawing that day
and sawed many more days before the end of the
college year.

In company with other students who were go
ing to their homes for the summer, he left Oberlin
College bound for some place, he really did not
know where. By some means he continued to
travel, and finally found himself working on a big
vessel which ran between Council Bluffs, Iowa,
and St. Louis, Missouri. One day, after his vessel
was anchored at St. Louis, he secured a news
paper and sat down to his old trade. He read and
read and finally came across an article which told
how badly Mississippi was needing educated men.
Many of her men had been killed in the war, and
until more food was raised there was really little
left for the people to eat. Bruce read some parts
of the article a second time, and while he sat there,
decided to start for Mississippi as soon as he
could.

The way soon opened, and after some days of
travel, he found himself in Mississippi. Mississippi
seemed to need him badly. Very soon, the mili
tary Governor- General of that State appointed
him to take charge of the election in a whole
county. The name of that county was Tallahat-
chie. He traveled over it from town to town, mak-

BLANCHE KELSO BRUCE [ 121

ing speeches and influencing men, until after the
election. Within a year, he met the Mississippi
Legislature at Jackson and was elected as Ser-
geant-at-arms in the Senate. In this position, he
assisted in many ways the one who presided over
the Senate. If any one in the Senate was disor
derly, he arrested him.

Bruce kept on traveling until the Governor of
Mississippi noticed him and appointed him as Tax
Assessor of Bolivar County He had to determine
how much taxes the people in that county should
pay. He afterwards stepped into the position of
Sheriff and Tax Collector, and then Superintend
ent of Schools of that county. Before leaving
Bolivar County, he bought a plantation.

Blanche Kelso Bruce had been traveling for
over thirty years now. The greatest milestone in
his journey, he said to a friend one day, was now
in sight. The State of Mississippi had elected him
to represent her in the United States Senate at
Washington, D. C. He knew little about the cus
toms in the Senate, but one day he found himself
sitting in the Senate Chamber ready to receive
what was called his induction into office.

Something within him, which sounded just as
plainly as the shrill voice at Oberlin had sounded,
seemed to say, "You will have no one to escort

122 ] UNSUNG HEROES

you up the aisle like the other new senators have ;
but you have traveled all the way from Farmville,
Virginia, as a slave, to Washington, D. C., as a
senator, so go right ahead".

Senator Bruce straightened up and said to him
self, "Ah! I guess that's the something within me
that has been following me all these years. It's
my turn to go up now, and I am going".

When he had gotten about half way up the aisle,
a tall gentleman touched him on the arm. He stood
for a moment as if he were dreaming or as if he
were listening to the shrill voice again. But no, this
was a real man who said to him, "Excuse me, Mr.
Bruce, I did not until this moment see that you
were without an escort. Permit me. My name is
Conkling". He linked his arm in that of Senator
Bruce and they marched up to the desk and back
to their seats together.

It was this man, Senator Roscoe Conkling of
New York, who assisted Senator Bruce in gain
ing the chairmanship of one committee in the
Senate and in securing a place on other commit
tees. A few years later, when a son was born to
Senator and Mrs. Bruce, he was named Roscoe
Conkling Bruce, in honor of the Senator.

Although, as he had said, the greatest mile
stone in his journey had been reached, and he had

BLANCHE KELSO BRUCE [ 123

served in the Senate for six years, the journey was
not yet completed. He went on and became Reg
ister of the United States Treasury.

One morning, as he sat in his office looking at a
five-dollar bill, some one seemed to shake him.
He looked up but there was nobody in the room
but him. He said that he thought he had simply
made a mistake, but soon something within that
sounded just like the little shrill voice of bygone
days seemed to say, "You've been a pretty good
traveler. Here you are again. I hear that not a
single paper dollar can be issued unless the name
*B. K. Bruce, Register of the Treasury', is
• stamped in the lower left-hand corner of it".

Mr. Bruce now leaned back and laughed out
right, "Ha! ha! ha!" He seemed to realize that
all these years no voice outside of his inner self
had been talking to him.

He served in the position of Register of the
Treasury for four years, then retired to private
life as a platform lecturer. Later, he entered up
on his duties as Recorder of Deeds of the District
of Columbia and as a trustee of the Washington
Public Schools. The end of his long fifty-seven-
year journey, which came March 17, 1898, found
him as Register of the United States Treasury
for a second time.

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR

Chapter VII

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR

THE MUSICIAN
1875-1912

IN one of the poorer quarters of London, Eng
land, a curly-headed boy was seen one day
playing marbles with one hand and holding a little
violin in the other. Passers-by stopped to get a
closer picture of the little marble-player with the
violin until there was quite an audience surround
ing him and the other boys at their play.

Many of the people in the houses in that block,
attracted by the crowd, either came to their doors
or looked out of their windows. Among those
attracted to their windows was the conductor of a
theatre orchestra, who was giving a music lesson
in a nearby house. He spied the little curly-headed
boy with the violin, ran out and coaxed him into
the house.

After talking to the boy a few minutes, the
orchestra conductor took the little violin and
played a short, beautiful tune. The boy in turn
agreed to play. The man set up before the child
a simple violin selection and asked if he could
play it. Without saying a word the little fellow

[127]

128 ] UNSUNG HEROES

looked at the sheet of music, lifted his little violin
to his shoulder and began to play in perfect time
and tune. The orchestra conductor stood looking
on in surprise. When that selection was finished,
he immediately set up another. This, too, the boy
played with the same ease.

After he had played several pieces in this man
ner, the orchestra conductor with his arms about
him asked his name.

"Samuel Coleridge-Taylor is my name", re
plied he. The orchestra conductor next asked
the boy who his parents were and where he lived.
Little Coleridge-Taylor quickly answered the
question and began to pull away from his new
friend. The orchestra conductor, feeling that the
boy wished to get back to his fellow marble-play
ers, patted him on the back, assured him that he
would come to see him soon and let him go.

Little Coleridge-Taylor ran every step of the
way until he reached the place where he had been
playing marbles with the boys. He looked all
around, but, seeing no one, set out for home. As
soon as he reached home, he began to tell his
mother about the man who played his little violin.

The orchestra conductor spoke to each of his
students that day about the curly-headed boy with
the violin. Even in the middle of a lesson, he

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [129

stopped occasionally to speak about the boy. As
soon as his day's work was done, he set out making
his way to the street and the number of the house
which Coleridge-Taylor had given him. He kept
on looking up at the numbers on the houses until
he reached the right one. He stepped up and rang
the door-bell. Happily little Coleridge-Taylor
came to the door; he at once recognized his new
friend and invited him in. His mother, hearing a
strange voice, came into the room, too.

Coleridge-Taylor said, "This is the gentleman
who played my violin, mother".

The orchestra conductor bowed to her, intro
duced himself and offered an apology for enter
ing her home. Little Coleridge-Taylor joined
with his mother in assuring the gentleman that
that was all right. The orchestra conductor
thanked them both, and began to tell of the musi
cal gifts of the child and how he should be edu
cated.

For a long time the mother sat quietly listen
ing. Finally she said, calling the orchestra con
ductor by his name, "Mr. Beckwith, you do not
understand. My boy's father, Dr. Daniel Hughes
Taylor, left us alone when the boy was one year
old, and my present husband is just a working
man". All was quiet for a few minutes.

130 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Presently Mr. Beckwith said sympathetically,
"Please tell me where the boy's father is".

The sturdy young English mother, bracing her
self up in her chair, said falteringly, "My boy's
father came from his native country, Sierra Leone,
Africa, to London. He entered University College
and was graduated as a medical student. His col
lege career was so brilliant that he became a mem
ber of the Royal College of Surgeons. He was
also connected with the Royal College of Physi
cians. As an assistant to another physician, he
practiced for a while in London and did well.

"Unfortunately for him, his partner moved
away and the patients refused to continue with
my husband because he was an African. He be
came discouraged and returned to his native coun
try. My boy and I lived for five years with some
of my friends in their three-room apartment. It
was my friend's husband who gave Samuel the
little violin a few months ago on his fifth
birthday."

Mr. Beckwith sat quietly listening to every
word. Once or twice he took out his handkerchief
and wiped his eyes. When the young mother had
finished her touching story, he assured her of his
deep interest and arose to go. However, before
leaving, he asked if she would let the boy come

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [131

to him for a violin lesson the next day. She con
sented and Mr. Beckwith, without further word,
bade her and little Samuel good-night.

The next day at the appointed hour, little Sam
uel and his mother found Mr. Beckwith's studio.
Seeing the sign on the door "Walk In" they
walked in and took their seats. The entire sur
roundings — the beautiful room, the piano, the
violins, the cabinet with its many pieces of music,
held their attention.

In the midst of this, Mr. Beckwith entered and
bowed to them. He immediately called Coleridge-
Taylor forth and began to give him a lesson. The
little fellow took hold of his violin, at first a bit
timidly, but with encouragement and assurance
from his teacher he gradually played as though
he had forgotten everything but the music before
him. When his lesson was over he left the studio
with beaming face but returned again and again
for his lessons.

When the child was six, Mr. Beckwith arranged
for him to appear in a recital given by his students.
Standing on a couple of boxes which raised him
above the ferns on the platform, little Samuel
drew forth much applause from the audience by
his performance.

He continued to study and take lessons of

132 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Beckwith. Finally, Mr. Beckwith succeeded in
getting him into the Old British School, which
was partly kept up by subscriptions from friends.
The headmaster of the school, as the principal
was called, welcomed the boy and soon began to
pay attention to him and talk about his unusual
ability. His schoolmates soon began to call him
"Coaly". Sometimes a boy sitting behind "Coaly"
would run his fingers through "Coaly's" silken
mop of thick, black hair. Such attentions always
made "Coaly" smile.

The headmaster and other masters, as the
teachers were called, encouraged him to work hard
on his music. His classmaster, fond of singing
himself, created enthusiasm for the weekly sing
ing lessons, during which Coleridge-Taylor stood
on a table in front of the class and led with his
violin.

At the request of this teacher, Coleridge-Tay
lor sat up one night, when he was only nine years
old, and wrote an original tune for the hymn,
"God Save the Queen". The next day, standing
on a table in front of his class, he played the tune
and sang it with his sweet treble voice until his
classmates learned to sing it too. He often sang
for visitors without seeming to think that he had
done any more than the other boys.

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [ 133

The time of the year soon came around when
the headmaster began to make his annual visit to
friends for funds for the school. As usual, he
called upon the choirmaster of St. George's Pres
byterian Church, who was always on the lookout
for boys with good voices. After greeting him
heartily and chatting with him a while, the choir
master asked if there were any good voices in the
school.

The headmaster hesitated a moment and then
said, "I have a little boy in my classes who takes
to music as a fish takes to water, but he is a
colored boy".

The choirmaster replied, saying, "Well, I am
much more concerned about his voice than about
his color; send him over to see me".

The next day Coleridge-Taylor went to see the
choirmaster. He seemed to hesitate and to shrink
away when the choirmaster called him up to sing.
However, as soon as he sang, flie choirmaster en
tered his name for the next vacancy in the choir.

Just after Coleridge- Taylor left the choir
master's home, the thought of offering prizes to
the Old British School for a singing contest sud
denly dawned upon the choirmaster. He thought
the matter over carefully and laid it before the
headmaster of the school, who in turn presented

134 ] UNSUNG HEROES

it to the school. Twenty boys, among whom was
Coleridge-Taylor, at once offered to enter the
contest. A song called "Cherry Ripe" was se
lected. For several weeks "Cherry Ripe" was
practiced and talked about as the only school topic.

The afternoon set for the contest finally came.
All the boys assembled in the chapel, with the
twenty boys in the contest occupying the front
seats. While every one sat anxiously waiting for
the singing to begin, the headmaster rose, stated
the meaning of the occasion and called forth the
first singer. A lad with confident air arose, walked
to the platform and sang as though he thought he
were a nightingale. Then another and another
came forward until all had sung except one little
bushy -headed, brown-skinned boy. All eyes were
now fixed upon him as he made his way to the plat
form with his usual shyness. He found his place
and began to pour forth such sweet, true, mellow
tones that all began to whisper softly, "Coaly
has it. Coaly has it". The song was finished in
the midst of uproarious applause. The judges
went out quietly and soon returned with the ver
dict unanimously in favor of "Coaly".

Very soon after Coleridge-Taylor had won the
prize this choirmaster, Colonel Herbert A. Wal
ters by name, took him under his care and looked

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [ 135

after him until he became a man. Finding him
quick, eager and with a wonderful ear for music,
Colonel Walters, in addition to teaching him some
simple theory of music, gave him voice production
and solo singing. He soon placed him in St.
George's choir as solo boy. Coleridge-Taylor ap
peared in many of St. George's concerts and later
in those of another church as a singer and as a
violinist.

During all these years, he had continued his
violin lessons with Mr. Beckwith. When he was
only twelve years old he was frequently sought
out by music lovers and musicians to play for them
on many important occasions. Now that he was
solo boy in the choir it seemed that he had found
a position for the remainder of his life, but all of
a sudden, however, at the age of fifteen, his treble
voice broke, making it impossible for him to con
tinue as a solo boy.

He remained as a member of the choir for ten
years longer. Since he could not continue as
vocal soloist, Colonel Walters set out to secure
for him a start in the larger musical world. A
London firm of piano makers, wishing to help
Colonel Walters and the boy, offered to appren
tice him to the piano-tuning trade. Colonel Wal
ters thanked them very graciously but went away

136 ] UNSUNG HEROES

saying that piano-tuning for such a musical genius
would be even worse than using a fine razor to
chop firewood.

The colonel, although he was not a wealthy
man, finally offered Coleridge-Taylor a higher
musical education. Both Coleridge-Taylor and
his mother thanked him enthusiastically. The
colonel, after visiting and comparing all the musi
cal colleges in London, chose for his brown boy
student the Royal College of Music. Coleridge-
Taylor was enrolled as a student in that college
and began his study at the Christmas term of
1890. He was seemingly even more shy than
usual; however, he began to study the violin, the
piano and harmony. Before a great while, each of
his teachers in these subjects began to speak with
enthusiasm about his success. Coleridge-Taylor,
however, was really more interested in writing
music than in anything else.

During his first year in the college, he wrote
some anthems which so attracted the attention of
Colonel Walters that he brought them to the no
tice of the professors. While Coleridge-Taylor
was under the instruction of one of the greatest
of the college professors in his second year, he
wrote four other anthems. These anthems so in
terested all of the professors of the college that

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [ 137

they began to speak freely of him as a genius
and a composer.

For a long time, it had been the custom of the
Royal College to offer nine scholarships to stu
dents winning in a certain musical contest. Cole
ridge-Taylor entered this contest during his
third year in the college and won the scholarship
for the best piece of music written. He composed
so many pieces each year that when he was twenty
years old the Royal College permitted him to give
a concert at which he used practically his compo
sitions only.

Two years later, he appeared on the program
of a students' concert as a composer. At the con
clusion of his number, he ran upstairs and hid in
the organ room. The applause, however, was so
great that his professor, who had also been in
tensely interested, found him and almost had to
drag him down.

From this time apparently the eyes of musical
critics were focused on the young musician. Some
times he would leave public gatherings and seek
his mother's kitchen. There he would sit and sing
over to her this or that tune which he had
composed.

During his fourth year in college, he won an
other prize for musical composition. Following

138 ] UNSUNG HEROES

this, there were few college concert programs in
London which did not contain a musical number
bearing Coleridge-Taylor's name. He took up
the study of the pipe-organ and continued it for
two terms but dropped it, saying, "The organ is
far too mechanical and soulless for me".

II

Shortly after Coleridge-Taylor had completed
his six years in the Royal College, he sat one after
noon in his humble home on a dingy street in
London, composing a difficult piece of music.
Near his doorway, an organ-grinder began to fill
the air with his mechanical tunes. Coleridge-
Taylor, greatly disturbed, threw down his pen,
rushed out and bade the organ-grinder go away.
A neighbor also hurried out, asking as she shook
her fist at Coleridge-Taylor and ran towards the
organ-grinder, "Why are you sending this man
away?"

Coleridge-Taylor replied, "I am a composer
of music, and I am engaged on a long com
position. The grinding noise of that organ is
serious for me".

"Well", said she, "my children like the organ
as much as you dislike it. We have as much
right to have it as you have to send the man

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [ 139

away. As for your piano, it is a good thing
that it is interrupted, for there is too much of it
for us". At that juncture a policeman came upon
the scene, and the organ-grinder moved on.

Coleridge-Taylor began to inquire about his
neighbor's children. He was told that she had
tipped the organ-grinder to come and play out
side of her house for the amusement of a sick
child. When the organ-grinder came the next
day, Coleridge-Taylor went out and talked with
him about the time of his appearance there each
day so that he might plan to avoid composing
music at that time. Although his evening practice
had seemingly become a real part of his life, for a
long time he refrained from touching his piano
during the night hours because of the sick child.

Disturbed by all sorts of noises in that street,
he and his mother's family moved to more quiet
quarters. These new surroundings seemed to in
spire him so that he was able to give evening violin
lessons at the conservatory of music, conduct a
small orchestral class and compose the music for
"Hiawatha's Wedding Feast" during the same
year.

Early in the next year, Coleridge-Taylor re
ceived from the oldest of the great English musi
cal societies a commission, or a special invitation,

140 ] UNSUNG HEROES

to write a selection for its Annual Festival.
Overjoyed because of this invitation, he set to
work at once and composed a piece called "Bal
lade in A Minor". Soon he began his rehearsals
with the orchestra and chorus which were to
render it. He conducted these rehearsals until
the very night of the concert, September 12, 1898.

That night people from all parts of London
poured into the hall until it was crowded. The
hour for the concert was at hand. The orchestra
and the chorus were in their places. The orches
tra conductor, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, a light
brown-skinned, quick-moving, polished young
man, with bright eyes and a large head covered
with rather long, thick, silken hair, entered. The
audience, not knowing what he looked like, paused
for a moment, then broke into a storm of applause.

He bowed, took up his baton and gave the
signal. The orchestra and then the chorus began.
The first strains of the music seemed to charm the
people. Each part followed with increasing in
terest. At the close of the performance, the audi
ence again broke forth with thunderous applause.
Three times Coleridge-Taylor was compelled to
come forward to acknowledge the appreciation of
the audience. Many people crowded around him

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [

and congratulated him and invited him out to
social affairs. The next day the London papers
were all praising Coleridge-Taylor both as a com
poser and as an orchestra conductor.

As soon as this event was over, he again turned
his attention to Longfellow's "Hiawatha". He
says that he committed the whole poem to mem
ory and lived with the words until they became a
part of him. Just two months after he conducted
the "Ballade in A Minor", "Hiawatha's Wedding
Feast", his next composition, was sung by the
choir and orchestra of his own college — The Royal
College of Music.

On the evening of this concert, Royal College
Hall buzzed with a crowded, expectant audience.
Every seat was occupied. People were sitting on
the steps of the platform and standing in the
aisles. When everything was in readiness for the
concert to begin, Sir Charles Stanford, a Profes
sor in the Royal College of Music, took up the
baton. The trumpets gave out the simple, charm
ing opening subject of the "Wedding Feast".
The audience sat as if in a trance. Interest grew
and grew as the words of Chibiabos, the friend of
Hiawatha and the sweetest of all singers, were
sung:

142 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Onaway! Awake, beloved!

Thou the wild-flower of the forest!

Thou the wild-bird of the prairie!

Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like!

If thou only lookest at me,

I am happy, I am happy

As the lilies of the prairie,

When they feel the dew upon them!

When the last strains of the orchestra died
away, the applause of the audience was loud and
long. Coleridge-Taylor was called forth in the
midst of the demonstration. He soon disappeared,
only to be called back again and again. As the
people departed from the concert, they saw Cole
ridge-Taylor, greatly embarrassed because of
his great success, dodging into doorways to get
out of their sight. The next morning, he seemed
to be even more embarrassed as he glanced at the
newspapers and saw in large headlines his name
mentioned as a great musician.

Ill

One evening, long before this concert, every
light in the home of the Walmisleys, a well-to-do
English family, burned with unusual brightness.
Vases and bowls of beautiful flowers scented the
atmosphere. Mr. and Mrs. Walmisley, assisted
by their attractive and accomplished daughter
Jessie, stood in their large parlors receiving their

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [143

guests, among whom was Coleridge-Taylor. In
the midst of the festivities, it was announced that
Coleridge-Taylor would play a violin selection.
He came forth and began to play to the piano
accompaniment of Miss Jessie Walmisley, who
was also a student at the Royal College of Music.
The hush of silence which always possessed audi
ences when Coleridge-Taylor played his violin,
at once stole over this happy group of cultured
people. When he had finished, his hearers called
him back several times. As the guests departed
from the Walmisley home that evening, they were
all talking about their charming hostess and the
genius of the young violinist.

Some months later, Miss Walmisley's profes
sors required her to practice some violin and piano
duets as vacation exercises. In her search for some
one with whom to practice, she thought of the
talented young Negro whom she had accom
panied at her mother's party. She wrote to the
College for his address but through mistake, the
address of another player by the name of Cole
ridge was sent to her. She went in search of him.
Although disappointed at meeting the wrong per
son, she continued her inquiry and search until
she found the home of Coleridge-Taylor.

His mother came to the door. Upon Miss

144 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Walmisley's request to see him about practicing
with her, his mother said, "I will ask him if he
can see you".

Two minutes later Coleridge-Taylor himself
came to the door smiling and shaking his head,
saying, "Can't do it now, can't possibly do it now.
I am writing a quartet".

She replied as she started off, "I am sorry to
have troubled you".

He stood looking at her and rather suddenly
said, "Wait a moment".

"I could not think of bothering you now", she
replied.

Coleridge-Taylor ran out and insisted that she
come in. While she waited, he hurried back to his
room and wrote down some notes. Soon he came
forward again with a smile, saying, "I can give
you an hour".

They practiced just one hour. After thanking
him many times, Miss Walmisley started to go,
but suddenly hesitated to ask if he could possibly
help her again. He consented, and at the close
of each practice he kept on promising a little more
time. Perhaps before they fully realized it, two
years had passed and they had become fast musi
cal friends. She joined his orchestral class and
assisted him greatly.

SAMUEL, COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [145

Their friendship, both realized, had steadily
ripened. Miss Walmisley seemed puzzled to
know whether she should permit herself to love
Coleridge-Taylor. She ceased for a time to meet
him or to have anything at all to do with his class.
During this period of freedom from his company,
she realized that she really loved him, and she
made up her mind to stand by him. They soon
became engaged.

After this, whenever it was convenient and fit
ting, Miss Walmisley would read through proofs
of his compositions and sing his new songs for
him. One day while they were attending a con
cert in a town near London, the usher announced
to their surprise and embarrassment, their en
gagement.

During these days, Coleridge-Taylor was com
posing almost without stopping except for his
meals and a long walk with Miss Walmisley each
day. With invitations to write for great occasions
pouring in upon him, he composed "The Death of
Minnehaha", "The Song of Hiawatha" and other
numbers. The theme of "The Song of Hiawatha"
Coleridge-Taylor says he took from a plantation
melody, "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen",
which he had recently heard sung by the famous
Fisk Jubilee Singers. It was through these sing-

146 ] UNSUNG HEROES

ers, says he, that he first learned to appreciate the
beautiful Negro folk songs.

Now that Coleridge-Taylor, at the age of
twenty-four, felt sure of his ability to support a
family, he and Miss Walmisley planned a quiet
wedding in a little church in Croydon. In their
attempt to keep the matter a secret, they ordered
an old rickety, weather-beaten carriage to wait
outside of the church to take them away after the
wedding. To their surprise, the news of the wed
ding had leaked out and when they entered the
church, there sat a church full of friends waiting
for the ceremony. Immediately ] folio wing the
ceremony Coleridge-Taylor and his bride left
the town for two weeks.

During that time Coleridge-Taylor continued
his work on "Hiawatha's Departure", which was
afterwards given by a famous choir and orchestra
of a thousand members, with the composer as the
conductor.

Coleridge-Taylor soon became a professor in
the University of London. He was spoken of as
one of the three greatest British orchestra con
ductors of his time. During the thirteen years of
his happy married life, he was busy composing
music, teaching and conducting orchestras. It

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [ 147

was during these years that his two children —
Gwendolen and Hiawatha — were born.

He traveled England from end to end and vis
ited America four times. On his third visit to
America, he wrote the first sketches of "A Tale of
Old Japan", which came next in popularity to
"Hiawatha".

The greater part of 1912 was gloomy, and the
sun failed to shine in England. Coleridge-Taylor
seemed sad because of this, but he worked hard
and so completely finished up all of his composi
tions that he said to his wife, "I have never felt
so free of work in my life". He planned to go
to the seashore but his son Hiawatha contracted
influenza in a severe storm, and so he remained
at home and amused himself by taking long walks.

One morning he said, "I have had a lovely
dream".

"What, another lovely dream? What is it this
time?" said Mrs. Coleridge-Taylor.

He answered, "Oh5 I dreamt I saw Hurlstone
in Heaven. [Hurlstone was a friend who had re
cently died.] I was just entering. We didn't
speak but we embraced each other. That means I
am going to die". Mrs. Coleridge-Taylor, insist
ing that it was only a dream, tried in vain to
cheer him.

148 ] UNSUNG HEROES

One August morning of this gloomy year,
Gwendolen and he went out and bought some
yellow chrysanthemums for Mrs. Coleridge-Tay
lor. On their return Coleridge-Taylor gave them
to his wife and bade her good-bye. He left to go
to a moving-picture show but became suddenly
ill, and fell at the station where he bought his
ticket. With difficulty he reached home. For
several days, he did not seem to be dangerously ill,
but acute pneumonia soon developed. He became
steadily worse. On Sunday of that week, Sep
tember 1st, he was propped up in bed with a
pillow. He seemed to imagine an orchestra before
him and an audience behind him. He conducted a
performance, beat time with both arms and smiled
his approval here and there. That smile never
left his face. Still smiling and conducting, he sank
back on his pillow and passed away.

The funeral services were held at St. Michael's
Church, Croydon, England, September 5, 1912.
People came from all parts of England. Many
were in the church long before the services began.
Mr. H. L. Balfour, organist of the Royal Choral
Society, played during this period of waiting, se
lections from Coleridge-Taylor's works. Among
them was a selection from "Hiawatha's Wedding
Feast" — "Chibiabos, the sweetest of all singers,

SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR [ 149

the best of all musicians". The beautiful slow
movement from Coleridge-Taylor's violin Con
certo in G Minor, which was not then published,
was played also. The services closed with his
funeral march from "The Death of Minnehaha".
The inscription on the headstone which marks
his grave reads as follows :

IK MEMORY OF
SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR

who died on

September 1, 1912

at the age of 37

Bequeathing to the World

A Heritage of an undying Beauty.

His Music Lives.
It was his own, and drawn from vital fountains.

It pulsed with his own life,

But now it is his immortality.

He lives while music lives.

Too young to die —
His great simplicity, his happy courage

In an alien world,
His gentleness made all that knew him love him.

Sleep, crowned with fame, fearless of change or time;

Sleep, like remembered music in the soul,
Silent, immortal; while our discords climb

To that great chord which shall resolve the whole.

Silent, with Mozart, on that solemn shore;

Secure, where neither waves nor hearts can break;
Sleep, till the master of the world once more

Touch the remembered strings and bid thee wake.

BENJAMIN BANNEKER

Chapter VIII

BENJAMIN BANNEKER

ASTRONOMER AND SURVEYOR
1732-1804

I

CHILDHOOD

ONE winter evening long ago, everything in
Baltimore County, Maryland, was covered
with deep snow. Icicles nearly a foot long hung
from the roofs of the rough log cabins. The trees
of the thick forest which extended for miles
around stood like silent ghosts in the stillness, for
no one in all that wooded country stirred out on
such an evening.

Far away from the other cabins stood the Ban-
neker cabin. Little Benjamin Banneker was busy
before a glowing wood fire roasting big, fat chest
nuts in the hot embers. His grandmother sat in
the corner in a quaint split-bottom, white-oak
chair, knitting and telling him about her native
country, England.

[153]

154 ] UNSUNG HEROES

She said, "When I was in England, milking
the cows on a cattle farm was a part of my daily
duties. One day I was accused of stealing a pail
of milk which had in fact been kicked over by the
cow. Instead of meting out a more severe punish
ment, the officers of the law sentenced me to be
shipped to America. Being unable to pay for my
passage, I was sold, upon my arrival in America,
to a tobacco planter on the Patapsco River to
serve a period of seven years to pay the cost of my
passage".

Silence reigned for a few moments, then she
continued, "I worked out my period of service,
then bought a part of the farm on which I had
worked. I also bought two African slaves from
a ship in the Chesapeake Bay. One of the slaves,
your grandfather, the son of an African king,
had been stolen from the coast of Africa".

Little Benjamin then asked, pointing to his
grandfather, who was sitting on the other side of
the hearth, "Was grandfather that man, grand
mother?"

"Yes", she said. She continued her story, end
ing with a beautiful description of the River
Thames, the Tower of London, and Westminster
Abbey.

BENJAMIN BANNEKER [ 155

All was still for a while, except for the occa
sional moving of Benjamin and the bursting of
chestnuts. Benjamin's grandfather, who was sit
ting with his eyes closed, now broke the silence.
Said he, "Benjamin, what are you going to be
when you are a man, a chestnut roaster?"

"I am going to be — I am going to be — what is
it, grandmother? You know you told me a story
about the man who knew all the stars", said Ben
jamin.

"An astronomer", replied his grandmother.

"That's it, I am going to be an astronomer",
answered Benjamin.

"You have changed in the last day or two,
then", said his grandfather. "The day your grand
mother told you about the man who could figure
so well with his head, you said you would be that".

"That man was a born mathematician", sug
gested his grandmother.

Benjamin began to blink his eyelids rapidly
and to twist and turn for an answer. Soon his
mouth flew open saying, "Well, I'll be both, I'll
be both!"

His grandmother interrupted by saying, "I
wonder what has become of my little inventor?
Benjamin, you remember what you said when I
told you the story about that inventor".

156 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Benjamin gave that look which always said,
"Well, I am caught"; but soon he recovered and
with this reply, "I can tell you what I am going to
do, I am going to school first to learn to figure.
And then while I am farming a little for my living
I can stay up at night and watch the stars. And in
the afternoon I can study and invent things until
I am tired, and then I can go out and watch
my bees".

"When are you going to sleep, my boy?" asked
his grandmother.

"In the morning", said he.

"And you are going to have a farm and bees,
too?" she asked.

"Yes, grandmother", said Benjamin, "we
might just as well have something while we are
here. Father says that he will never take mother
and me to his native country — Africa — to live.
Grandmother, did you and grandfather have any
children besides mother?"

"Yes, there were three other children", replied
his grandmother.

"When father and mother were married", said
Benjamin, "mother didn't change her name at all
from Mary Banneker as the ladies do now, but
father changed his name to Robert Banneker.

BENJAMIN BANNEKER [ 157

I am glad of it, for you see you are Banneker,
grandfather is Banneker, I am Banneker and all
of lis are Bannekers now".

"My boy", interrupted his grandfather, "I am
waiting to hear how you are going to buy a farm."

"Oh, grandfather", said Benjamin as he arose,
"you remember that mother and father gave Mr.
Gist seven thousand pounds of tobacco and Mr.
Gist gave them one hundred acres of land here in
Baltimore County. Grandfather, don't you think
father will give me some of this land? He cannot
use it all."

"Yes, when you are older, Benjamin. But you
must go to school and learn to read first", an
swered his grandfather.

"Yes but — ouch, that coal is hot!" cried Ben
jamin as he shook his hand, danced about the floor
and buried his fingers in a pillow. That time he
had picked up a hot coal instead of a chestnut.
Some time after his fingers were "doctored" and
he was apparently snug in bed for the night, he
shook his hands and cried out for his grandmother.

Benjamin rose the next morning, and after
breakfast, began again to roast chestnuts. Morn
ing after morning he roasted chestnuts until the
snow had all cleared away. Then he entered a pay

158 ] UNSUNG HEROES

school and soon learned to read, write and do some
arithmetic. After some months had passed he
began to borrow books and to study by himself.

II

FARMER AND MATHEMATICIAN

When Benjamin was about twenty-seven, his
father died. As he had prophesied when he was a
boy, his father's farm bought with the tobacco,
became his. On this farm was Banneker's house
—a log cabin about half a mile from the Patapsco
River. In his doorway he often stood looking at
the near and distant beautiful hills along the
banks of this river. What he said about his bees
when he was a boy came true also. These he
kept in his orchard; and in the midst of this or
chard a spring which never failed, babbled beneath
a large golden willow tree. His beautiful garden
and his well-kept grounds seemed to give him
pleasure.

Banneker never married, but lived alone in
retirement after the death of his mother. He
cooked his own food and washed his own clothes.
All who knew him, and especially those who
saw that he was a genius, spoke well of him.
He always greeted his visitors cheerfully, and he

BENJAMIN BANNEKER [ 159

kept a book in which was written the name of
every person by whose visit he felt greatly
honored.

Some one who knew him well says that he was
a brave-looking, pleasant man with something
very noble in his face. He was large and some
what stout. In his old age he wore a broad-
brimmed hat which covered his thick suit of white
hair. He always wore a superfine, drab broad
cloth coat with a straight collar and long waist
coat. His manners, some one says, were those of
a perfect gentleman — kind, generous, hospitable,
dignified, pleasing, very modest and unassuming.

He worked on his farm for his living, but
found time to study all the books which he could
borrow. He studied the Bible, history, biography,
travels, romance, and other books, but his greatest
interest was in mathematics. Like many other
scholars of his day, he often amused himself during
his leisure by solving hard problems. Scholars
from many parts of the country often sent him
difficult problems. It is said that he solved every
one sent to him and he often sent in return an
original question in rhyme. For example, he sent
the following question to Mr. George Ellicott,
which was solved by a scholar of Alexandria:

160 ] UNSUNG HEROES

A Cooper and Vintner sat down for a talk,

Both being so groggy, that neither could walk.

Says Cooper to Vintner, "I'm the first of my trade;

There's no kind of vessel but what I have made.

And of any shape, Sir — just what you will;

And of any size, Sir — from a ton to a gill !"
"Then", says the Vintner, "you're the man for me —

Make me a vessel, if we can agree.

The top and the bottom diameter define,

To bear that proportion as fifteen to nine ;

Thirty-five inches are just what I crave,

No more and no less, in the depth will I have.

Just thirty-nine gallons this vessel must hold,

Then I will reward you with silver and gold.

Give me your promise, my honest old friend?"
"I'll make it to-morrow, that you may depend !"

So the next day the Cooper his work to discharge,
Soon made the new vessel, but made it too large ;
He took out some staves, which made it too small,
And then cursed the vessel, the Vintner and all.
He beat on his breast, "By the Powers !" he swore
He never would work at his trade any more !
Now, my worthy friend, find out, if you can,
The vessel's dimensions and comfort the man.

Ill

INVENTOR AND ASTRONOMER

When Banneker was about thirty-eight years
old he sat day after day working on a clock.
Finally he finished it with his imperfect tools and
with only a borrowed watch for a model. He had
never seen a clock for there was not one, it is said,
within fifty miles of him. An article published in

BENJAMIN BANNEKER [ 161

London, England, in 1864, says that Banneker's
clock was probably the first clock every part of
which was made in America. For many hours and
days he turned and adjusted the hands of his clock
until they moved smoothly and the clock struck
on the hour.

Time passed, and after some years Mr. George
Ellicott's family — Quakers from Pennsylvania
they were — began to build flour-mills, a store and
a post-office in a valley adjoining Banneker's
farm. Banneker was now fifty-five years old, and
had won the reputation of knowing more than any
other person in that county. Mr. Ellicott opened
his library to him. He gave him a book which told
of the stars. He gave him tables about the moon.
He urged him to work out problems for almanacs.

Early every evening Banneker wrapped him
self in a big cloak, stretched out upon the ground
and lay there all night looking at the stars and
planets. At sunrise he rose and went to his house.
He slept and rested all the morning and worked
in the afternoon. His neighbors peeped through
the cracks of his house one morning and saw him
resting. They began at once to call him a lazy
fellow who would come to no good end.

In spite of this, he compiled an almanac. His
first almanac was published for the year 1792.

162 ] UNSUNG HEROES

It so interested one of the great men of the coun
try that he wrote to two almanac publishers of
Baltimore about it. These publishers gladly pub
lished Banneker's almanac. They said that it was
the work of a genius, and that it met the hearty
approval of distinguished astronomers.

Banneker wrote Thomas Jefferson, then Sec
retary of State, on behalf of his people, and sent
him one of his almanacs. Mr. Jefferson replied :

Philadelphia, August 30, 1791.

Sir — I thank you sincerely for your letter of the 19th inst.

and for the almanac it contained. Nobody wishes more than

I do to see such proofs as you exhibit, that nature has given

to your race talents equal to those of the other races of men.

I am with great esteem, Sir,

Your most obedient servant,

THOS. JEFFERSON

IV

SURVEYOR

This strange man, Benjamin Banneker, never
went away from home any distance until he was
fifty-seven years old. Then he was asked by the
commissioners, appointed to run the boundary
lines of the District of Columbia, to go with them.
He accompanied them.

Later, The Evening Star, a Washington
daily paper, said, "Major L'Enfant, the engi-

BENJAMIN BANNEKER [163

neer, bossed the job while Benjamin Banneker
did the work".

1 On Banneker's return home from Washington
he told his friends that during that trip he had
not touched strong drink, his one temptation.
"For", said he, "I feared to trust myself even with
wine, lest it should steal away the little sense I
had." In those days wines and liquors were upon
the tables of the best families.

Perhaps no one alive today knows the exact
day of Banneker's death. In the fall, probably
of 1804, on a beautiful day, he walked out on
the hills apparently seeking the sunlight as a
tonic. While walking, he met a neighbor to whom
he told his condition. He and his neighbor walked
along slowly to his house. He lay down at once
upon his couch, became speechless and died.

During a previous illness he had asked that all
his papers, almanacs, and the like, be given at his
death to Mr. Ellicott. Just two days after his death
and while he was being buried, his house burned
to the ground. It burned so rapidly that the clock
and all his papers were destroyed. A feather bed
on which he had slept for many years was removed
at his death. The sister to whom he gave it opened
it some years later and in it was found a purse
of money.

164 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Benjamin Banneker was well known on two
continents. An article written about him in 1864
by a member of the London Emancipation So
ciety says, "Though no monument marks the spot
where he was born and lived a true and high life
and was buried, yet history must record that the
most original scientific intellect which the South
has yet produced was that of the African, Ben
jamin Banneker".

PHILLIS WHEATLEY

Chapter IX

PHILLIS WHEATLEY

FIRST POETESS or HER RACE ON AMERICAN SOIL
1753-1784

IN 1753 a baby girl was born on the Western
Coast of Africa. Her mother did not sit for
hours making beautiful little dresses and doing
embroidery for her, for that is not the custom
in Africa. Babies do not need many clothes in
that warm country. There little children, and
grown people too, run around with just a piece
of cloth tied about their waists.

The child was not robust, but she grew and
grew until she soon became her mother's com
panion. Her mother, believing that a Great Spirit
lives in the sun, went out of her little thatched-
roof house every morning and prostrated herself
to pour out water before the rising sun. The child
often watched the water as it streamed down, and
sometimes she jumped and clapped her little
hands with glee.

One bright morning, after this religious cere
mony was performed and breakfast was over,
the girl ran out to play with the other children.
She was shedding her front teeth, but she was not

[ 167 ]

168 ] UNSUNG HEROES

large for her age and she was none too strong.
While she and her playmates were having a happy
time, suddenly one of the older children ex
claimed, "Hoi! hoi!" Every child looked up and
took to its heels. There were strange-looking men
hurrying towards them. The children ran and
screamed. Our little girl stumbled and fell, and
the man, pursuing her, grabbed her. She kicked
and yelled but he held her fast. Her best friend ran
behind a big tree, but she, too, was caught. They
both kicked and yelled, but they were taken on
board an American vessel. Other children who
were caught were also brought to the shore kick
ing and crying.

When there were almost enough of them for a
boat-load, the vessel sailed away. They were on
the water for many days. The voyage was long
and the sea was rough. The waters lashed the
sides of the vessel as it rocked to and fro. Some
of the children fell to the floor with spells of vom
iting. Many a night everything for a time was in
complete darkness and everybody was afraid. The
little vessel, however, tugged away for days and
nights until it sighted lights flickering in the Bos
ton Harbor. All the voyagers, tired and hungry
and lonely, re j oiced to be nearing even an unknown
land. Soon the boat pulled into the harbor, and

PHILLIS WHEATLEY [169

although no comforts had been provided for them
for the night, weariness of body so overcame lone
liness of heart that all of them soon fell asleep.

The news had gone abroad in Boston that a
shipload of Africans was approaching. The next
morning many Bostonians hurried to the harbor
to see the Africans. Among the number of spec
tators there was a Mrs. John Wheatley, the wife
of a tailor. She walked around and looked many
of the African girls over from head to foot. Final
ly she handed the shipmaster money and took
our girl away with her to her home.

She and her daughter were busy for a while
heating kettles of water, getting out clothing and
sewing on a button here and there, preparatory
to giving her a good hot bath. When the child
was called in she gazed at this strange-looking ob-
ject which Mrs. Wheatley called a tub. She
looked at the soap and felt it. She stretched her
eyes as she looked upon the nice white clothes on
the chair. She seemed just a little afraid and yet
she did as Mrs. Wheatley told her and soon had
her bath.

After she was dressed, she met another big sur
prise. She was taken into a dining-room, where
the table was all spread with white linen. There
were strange-looking things to eat. She began

170 ] UNSUNG HEROES

eating, but said that the food did not taste like the
food in Africa. She picked over this and picked
over that, but nothing tasted just right. Never
theless she smiled, and it appeared that she was
not very hungry. Mrs. Wheatley watched her
closely as she came in touch with all of these
strange new things and assured her that in a few
days everything would not seem so queer. The
girl adopted the customs of the family and they
named her Phillis Wheatley.

Every day as Mrs. Wheatley's daughter sat
reading or writing letters, Phillis stood looking
at her in wonder. Miss Wheatley seemed to write
with so much ease that one day Phillis went out
with a piece of charcoal in her hand and began to
try to write on the side of a wall. Miss Wheatley,
who was seated at a window, watched her for a
long time, then called her in and showed her how
to make some letters. Phillis busied herself for
the remainder of the day making letters and keep
ing Miss Wheatley busy showing her how to make
new ones. That night she scarcely wished to leave
her writing to go to bed, but Miss Wheatley per
suaded her by promising to give her a lesson every
day. They set the lesson hour and Phillis went
to bed smiling and shaking with joy. Just at the
right time every day she walked into Miss Wheat-

PHILLIS WHEATLEY [171

ley's room for her lesson. When her lessons were
over and she was not busy with her work, she was
p'oring over her books. In less than a year and
a half she could easily read the most difficult parts
of the Bible without making a mistake. In four
years people in different parts of the country be
gan to hear of her and write to her and even fur
nish her with books. To the surprise of the Wheat-
leys, she was soon studying and reading the Latin
language without any one to help her.

At the age of fourteen, Phillis began to write
poetry. Often when some great person of whom
she knew died, she would write a poem to com
memorate his death. Sometimes she awoke dur
ing the night and composed verses but could not
recall all of them the next morning. As soon as
Mrs. Wheatley discovered this, she began leaving
a light and writing materials on the table at Phil-
lis's bedside every night. In cold weather, she
always left a fire burning on the hearth in Phillis's
room.

For six years Phillis was busy writing poetry
and letters and studying and receiving visitors.
Many people in England corresponded with her.
The educated people of Boston were often seen
making their way to the Wheatley home. They
talked with Phillis and questioned her, and often

172 ] UNSUNG HEROES

asked her to read some of her poetry. When she
in turn went to their homes they took great pride
in showing her off as a wonder. Those who talked
with her marveled at her knowing so much about
English poetry, astronomy, ancient history and
the Bible,

She continued to write and study. In her nine
teenth year she became so thin and pale that the
family doctor advised Mrs. Wheatley to give her
a sea voyage. Accordingly, the following summer,
Phillis set out for London with Mrs. Wheatley's
son, who was going there on business. On her
arrival in London, after days of travel, some of
her friends with whom she had corresponded, met
her and welcomed her. As she visited the different
ones, she went to dinner parties and theatre par
ties given in her honor.

When articles about her poetry began to ap
pear in many of the leading London papers, her
friends advised her to have all of her poems pub
lished. She considered the matter and went with
some of them to see a publisher. After reviewing
the poems, the publisher accepted them and pub
lished them, in 1773, under the title, "Poems on
Various Subjects, Religious and Moral, by Phillis
Wheatley".

As soon as copies of the poems reached America

PHILLIS WHEATLEY [ 173

and were read, many people expressed doubt
about the author being an African girl. The Gov
ernor of Massachusetts and seventeen other Bos-
tonians, upon hearing this report, wrote a letter
assuring people everywhere that these poems were
written by Phillis Wheatley.

Phillis Wheatley's London friends were mak
ing plans to present her to their king, George III,
who was expected in London within a few days,
but word reached her that Mrs. Wheatley was
quite ill and wished to see her at once. Her pas
sage was secured for her while she packed her
trunk. As fortune would have it, a vessel was
sailing that day for Boston. She bade her friends
good-bye and put out to sea. The vessel moved
slowly, but after days of travel it landed at Bos
ton. She was met at the dock and hurried to the
Wheatley home. Mrs. Wheatley caressed her
again and again, and lay looking at her for days.
For two months Phillis waited upon Mrs. Wheat-
ley and sat by her bedside night after night until
she died. Four years later another shock came to
the family — Mr. Wheatley died. Seven months
after his death his daughter passed away, leaving
Phillis alone.

Phillis lived a short while with a friend of the
Wheatleys and then rented a room and lived

174* ] UNSUNG HEROES

alone. She lived in this way until she began to
taste the bitterness of Revolutionary War times.
At that time one goose sold for forty dollars and
one-fourth of a lamb sold for fifty dollars.

One evening during these hard times she met
a handsome man by the name of Peters, who wore
a wig and carried a cane. He also kept a grocery
store, practiced law and wrote poetry. He began
at once to pay court to Phillis. Later he called
on her, often took her out for a stroll or to a party
until they were married several weeks later.

After the wedding day, Phillis began her daily
round of sweeping and cleaning, cooking and
washing and ironing. As the years came and went,
three children came into their lives. Mr. Peters
failed in business and then left to Phillis the sup
port of herself and the children. She secured a
job in a cheap boarding-house, where she worked
every day from early morning until late at night.
She became ill from overwork.

During the first summer of her illness two of
her children died. The following winter, cold and
snowy, some charitable organization placed in her
back yard a load of wood. Although the wood lay
there, Peters often went out, leaving Phillis lying
on her poor bed without a spark of fire on the
hearth. She lay there for weeks.

PHILLIS WHEATLEY [175

Friends and distant relatives of the Wheatleys
often inquired about Phillis, but no one seemed
to know where she was. Finally one December
afternoon, in 1784, as a grand-niece of Mrs.
Wheatley chanced to be walking up Court Street
in Boston she met a funeral. Upon inquiry
she learned that it was the funeral of Phillis
Wheatley.

AN HYMN TO THE MORNING

Attend my lays, ye ever-honor'd nine;
Assist my labours, and my strain refine ;
In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,
For bright aurora now demands my song.

Aurora hail, and all the thousand dyes,

Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:

The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,

On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays ;

Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,

Part the bright eye, and shake the painted plume.

Ye shady groves, your verdant gloom display
To shield your poet from the burning day;
Calliope awake the sacred lyre,
While thy fair sisters fan the pleasing fire:
The bow'rs, the gales, the variegated skies
In all their pleasures in my bosom rise.

See in the East th' illustrious king of day !
His rising radiance drives the shades away.
But oh ! I feel his fervid beams too strong,
And scarce begun, concludes th' abortive song.

— From Poems on Various Subjects,
Religious and Moral.

176 ] UNSUNG HEROES

AN HYMN TO THE EVENING

Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.

Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dyes are

spread !

But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev'ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below !
Fill'd with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night.

Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav'nly, more refin'd;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night's leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,
Then cease, my song, till fair Aurora rise.

Imagination! Who can sing thy force?
Or who describe the swiftness of thy course?
Soaring through air to find the bright abode,
Th' empyreal palace of the thund'ring God,
We on thy pinions can surpass the wind,
And leave the rolling universe behind:
From star to star the mental optics rove,
Measure the skies, and range the realms above.
There in one view we grasp the mighty whole,
Or with new worlds amaze th' unbounded soul.

— Taken from "Imagination"

PHILLIS WHEATLEY [177

Improve your privileges while they stay,
Ye pupils, and each hour redeem, that bears
Or good or bad report of you to heav'n;
Let sin, that baneful evil to the soul,
By you be shunn'd, nor once remit your guard;
Suppress the deadly serpent in its egg,
Ye blooming plants of human race divine,
An Ethiop tells you 'tis your greatest foe;
Its transient sweetness turns to endless pain,
And in immense perdition sinks the soul.

— Taken from "To the University of
Cambridge, in New England"

TOUSSAINT I/OUVERTURE

"MY CHILDREN, CHOOSE YOUR DUTY.

Chapter X

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE

COMMANDEK-IN-CHIEF OF AN AEMY

PBESIDENT OF HAYTI

1743-1803

MANY years ago a keen-faced little boy with
protruding lips, Toussaint by name, was
busy, day by day, tending a great herd of cattle
on the Island of Hayti in the West Indies. He
started out early every morning, cracking his
whip as loudly as he could and getting his cows in
line. Often he ran upon one, gave her a cut and
called out, "Gee, there, Sally; ha, ha, get in line
there, Buck! Come on now! Get up, I say!"

That great herd of cattle marched out at his
bidding and began to graze in the deep valleys or
on the high mountains. Even the most unruly
ones ate around and around in the high grass. All
of them ate and ate, and many lay down about
noon and chewed their cuds. Toussaint kept his
eye on them and at the same time busied himself
with other things.

One day he climbed an orange tree, sat in the
fork of it and ate oranges until his stomach looked
like a little stuffed pouch. Another day he sat

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182 ] UNSUNG HEROES

lazily under a banana tree, reached up and pulled
bananas and ate and ate, and pulled more and ate
until he almost fell asleep. Still another day, he
hammered away on a hard coconut shell trying
to burst it with his fist. Later, he joined the na
tives for a few minutes as they washed gold from
the sands of a stream of water.

While many of the cows were resting from the
heat one day, Toussaint ran across to the two
great hills of pure salt. "Oh, isn't that beautiful",
he said in French. "And do we really eat that
salt in our food? And is one of those salt hills two
miles long? Well, there must be enough salt there
to salt down everything and everybody on the
island. I guess we'll be salting down the trees
next", he added. The next day at noon he ran
away to the blue copper mines and the sulphur
mines and gathered a handful of flowers along
the way.

As the time passed, he settled down to get out
his reading, arithmetic, geometry and Latin.
Toussaint's teacher, who was an older slave, had
in some way learned quite a little of these subjects
and was teaching him secretly at night.

Years passed, and Toussaint continued to tend
the cattle as though nothing terrible would ever
happen to him. Cattle-tending days finally ceased,

TOUSSAINT I/OUVERTURE [183

and he was promoted to the position of coachman
and horse doctor.

1 Some of the boys eyed him jealously as his
carriage dashed by them. They said, "Eh, Mr.
Horse Doctor! Drenching old horses, ha, ha!"

Toussaint reared back and held the lines
tightly with his arms outstretched. With his horses
all sleek and his carriage polished like a looking-
glass, he sat back like the grandson of an African
king, as he was, and drove with a steady hand.

Apparently happy now in his new position, he
married an African young woman whose parents,
like his own, had been brought from Africa to
Hayti many years before. Many other Africans
had been brought over as slaves to this island to
work the land because the natives of Hayti had
died out. There were also on the island French
men, Spaniards and free Negroes.

Trouble arose among these people and war
broke out. For days fires raged, houses were
burned and thousands of people fell dead and
mortally wounded by bullets. Toussaint looked on,
but took no part in the war at first. When his
master's home was about to be burned to the
ground he broke into it, rescued very valuable
articles for his master, and helped his master's
family to escape from the island. Then he became

184 ] UNSUNG HEROES

a free man, joined the army of slaves and soon
rose to the rank of colonel. His army joined with
the Spaniards, but when the French gave freedom
to all the slaves, his army joined the French and
drove the Spaniards from the island.

Before the close of the war, the French made
Toussaint brigadier-general. As brigadier-gen
eral he made charts of the island and studied them
so closely that he knew the course of every stream
and the location of every hill.

He fought the Spanish so hard that one after
another of their towns fell into the hands of the
French. One day a French soldier exclaimed,
f(Cet homme fait ouverture partout" (this man
makes an opening everywhere) . This saying was
passed along by the soldiers, and ever after this
Toussaint was called "Toussaint L' Ouverture"
(Toussaint, the opening). 'Tis true he had been
in battles and made openings, but nothing terrible
had happened to him yet.

For a long time the French general seemed to
have very little confidence in Toussaint, but once
this general was thrown into prison on the island.
Toussaint marched at the head of an army of
10,000 men, had him released and restored him
to his office. For this act Toussaint was ap
pointed lieutenant-governor of the island. Later

TOUSSAINT I/OUVERTURE [185

on he became commander-m-chief of the French
army in Santo Domingo. This was the most im
portant position on the island where Toussaint
had been a slave for nearly fifty years. Every
where people gladly co-operated with him in his
administration.

Now that things were going well, he sent his
two sons to Paris to be educated. The French
rulers publicly praised him and called him the de
liverer of Santo Domingo. The French Govern
ment presented him with a richly embroidered
dress and a suit of superb armor.

Finally Toussaint became president of Hayti
for life. It is said that his generals were as obe
dient to him as children. His soldiers looked upon
him as a wonder, and the people generally wor
shipped him as their deliverer. English officers
who fought against him said that he never broke
his word.

He was plain in his dress and in all his manners.
His dinner often consisted of cakes, fruit and a
glass of water. He often jumped on his horse
and rode one hundred and fifty miles without rest.
Then he would rest for two hours and start out
again.

During the last two years of Toussaint's life, a
terrible thing happened to him. Napoleon Bona-

186 ] UNSUNG HEROES

parte, the ruler of France, because of jealousy,
it is said, sent against Toussaint twenty-six war
ships and a number of transports. On board these
vessels there were twenty-five thousand French
soldiers. When Toussaint looked out upon the
ocean and caught a glimpse of this great fleet, he
said in his native tongue, "All France is coming
to Santo Domingo". The soldiers landed and be
gan to slaughter the natives.

Toussaint's two sons, whom he had not seen for
several years, were on one of the ships. When they
saw their father they ran to meet him. Toussaint
could not speak, but he and his sons threw them
selves into each other's arms and wept bitterly.
The French general, it is said, saw that he could
not use these boys to play a trick on their father
and thus make him yield to the French. He then
said that the boys must be taken back to France.
Toussaint stood before his sons with folded arms,
saying in the French language, "My children,
choose your duty; whatever it be, I shall always
love and bless you".

One of the boys said, "I am done with France.
I shall fight by your side, Father." The other boy
left his father and returned to France. The cruel
war continued. Toussaint and his generals with a
small body of troops fortified themselves in a

TOUSSAINT I/OUVERTURE [187

mountainous retreat. The French soldiers tried
hard for a long time to dislodge them but they
could not. Finally Toussaint sent two of his pris
oners with a letter to the French General saying
that he would make peace.

A few days later, when Toussaint came forth to
greet the French general, guns were fired in Tous-
saint's honor and all heads were bowed as he
passed by. Three hundred horsemen with their
sabres drawn followed Toussaint to protect him.
He and the French General agreed on a plan, but
Napoleon Bonaparte declared that Toussaint
must be sent as a prisoner to France.

It was difficult to take him as a prisoner and so
a trick was played on him. At the giving of a
signal, French soldiers sprang upon his guards
and disarmed them. Then they bade Toussaint
give up his sword. He yielded it in silence and
was taken to his own home. A band of French
soldiers came during the night and forced him and
his wife to go aboard a French vessel.

On their way to France Toussaint's cabin door
was guarded by soldiers. His wrists were chained
together. He was not even permitted to talk with
his wife. When his vessel landed at Brest, France,
a detachment of soldiers took him to Paris and
placed him in prison. Winter soon came on and

188 ] UNSUNG HEEOES

he was taken to an old castle away up in the Jura
Mountains. In this old castle there was a cold,
wet dungeon partly under ground. He was
plunged into this and there he remained for ten
months, neglected, humiliated and starved. On
the 27th of April, 1803, he was found dead in his
dungeon.

Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!

Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough

Within thy hearing, or thou liest now

Buried in some deep dungeon's earless den,

O miserable chieftain! where and when

Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou

Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow;

Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,

Live and take comfort. Thou hast left behind

Powers that will work for thee — air, earth and skies;

There's not a breathing of the common wind

That will forget thee — thou hast great allies ;

Thy friends are exultations, agonies,

And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

— William Wordsworth.

JOSIAH HENSON

Chapter XI

JOSIAH HENSON

THE FAITHFUL SERVANT
1789-1881

T OSIAH HENSON, or "Si" as he was called,
J tried at the age of fifteen to out-hoe, out-reap,
out-husk, out-dance every other boy on his mas
ter's plantation in Charles County, Maryland.
Boys would sometimes stand around and look at
"Si" and talk about the wonderful things he could
do and the great stories they had heard about him.
One special story they liked to tell.

The story was this: As a child "Si" was such a
sickly little fellow his master offered to sell him
cheaply to the man who owned his mother. His
mother's master hesitated to buy him, saying,
"I am afraid the little devil might die. I do not
wish to buy a dead brat". Nevertheless, he finally
agreed to shoe some horses for Si's master and
thus pay a small sum for Si.

Occasionally after some boy was through tell
ing this stock tale, which always produced a laugh,
other boys would begin to guess why Si was so
great. One said one day, "I guess it's that meat

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192 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Si eats at Christmas time. He certainly doesn't
get much at any other time".

"No", said another, who slept in the cabin
with Si, "Si sleeps more soundly than any one of
us in the cabin, and there are twelve of us who
sleep in that one room, counting the women and
girls. Give me a board and let me show you how
Si stretches out on his plank. Now give me some
straw to go under my head. How I wish there
were a big fire on a hearth to toast my feet before,
like Si does as he sleeps!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the boys as the young
fellow stretched out on the board like Si.

A third boy then said, "Well, Si was named for
two great men — his master, Dr. Josiah, and Dr.
Josiah's uncle, Mr. Henson, who was an army
officer". Other boys gave still other reasons for
Si's greatness. However, the one thing upon
which all were agreed was that Si could out-hoe,
out-reap, out-husk, out-dance, out-everything
every other boy on his master's plantation in
Charles County, Maryland.

Si seemed to grow steadily in favor with his
master and the older slaves as well as with the
boys. One day he went to his master and reported
that the overseer was stealing things at a certain
time every day. His master sent him out to watch

JOSIAH HENSON [ 193

for the overseer. Just as the overseer came around
for his booty, Si ran for his master. His master
ran out and caught the overseer in the act of
stealing and dismissed him at once.

Josiah, as his master called him, was then pro
moted to the position of superintendent of the
farm, but without pay. He led the slaves. He
hoed and plowed early and late. Men and women
worked harder and far more cheerfully than usual.
The crops were nearly doubled. Josiah often rose
from his plank at midnight, hitched the mules to
a loaded wagon and drove through mud and rain
to the Georgetown or the Washington, D. C.,
market to sell the produce.

One day as he was selling at McKenny's bakery
in Georgetown, he asked Mr. McKenny about a
sermon which he had recently heard Mr. Mc
Kenny preach. After telling Mr. McKenny that
that was the first sermon he had ever heard, he
asked how men learned to preach.

Mr. McKenny told him a little about God and
the Bible. He went further, saying, "My young
man, you must be about nineteen or twenty years
old now. You have a good mind. You must learn
to preach to your people". This thought seemed
to linger with Josiah as he made his way back
home that evening hungry and tired.

194 ] UNSUNG HEROES

His master, he learned, had been away at the
tavern nearly all day. He ate his supper, called
for his master's saddle horse, which he led to the
tavern. As his master's body-servant, he alighted
and went in. Just as he reached the door he saw
his master cornered and a dozen men striking at
him with their fists, chairs, crockery and whatever
was at hand.

The moment Josiah's master saw him he
shouted, "That's it, Josiah! Pitch in! Show
me fair play!" Josiah pitched in. He knocked
down and shoved and tripped up the fighters,
sustaining many bruises on his own head and
shoulders. Finally he was able to drag his master
out and pack him into a wagon like a bag of corn
and drive home. In the scuffle the overseer of
Josiah's master's brother got a fall which he
attributed to Josiah's roughness.

One week later Josiah's master sent him to a
place a few miles away to mail some letters. He
took a short cut through a lane which was bounded
on either side by a high rail fence and shut in at
each end by a large gate. As he passed through
the line, he saw the overseer who had fallen that
night and three slaves in an adjoining field. On
his return, the overseer was seated on the fence.
Just as Josiah approached, the overseer jumped

JOSIAH HENSON [ 195

from the fence. Two of the slaves sprang from
the bushes in front of Josiah and the other slave
leaped over the fence behind him. After listening
to several commands to light at once, Josiah
slipped off his horse. Orders were given him to
remove his shirt, but he shook his head. Just then
the men struck at him so violently that his horse
broke away and ran home. Josiah, in warding off
the blow, got into a corner. The overseer ordered
the slaves to seize him, but they, knowing Josiah's
reputation, hesitated to run upon him. The two
slaves that finally ventured upon Josiah were so
completely knocked out that the overseer began
to fight like a madman. As he struck at Josiah
with a piece of fence rail, Josiah lifted his arms
to ward off the blow. The bones in Josiah's arms
and shoulders cracked like pipe-stems, and he fell
headlong to the ground.

When Josiah finally made his way home, his
master, already anxious because of the return of
the riderless horse, examined him and went in
search of the overseer, whom he gave a severe
flogging.

With the belief so well fixed that a slave would
get well anyhow, no medical aid was provided for
Josiah except what came at the hands of his mas
ter's sister, Miss Patty. Miss Patty flinched at

196 ] UNSUNG HEROES

no responsibility, from wrenching out teeth to
setting bones. She splinted Josiah's arms and
bound up his back as well as she could.

Five months later, Josiah began to plow, to take
up his duties as superintendent, and to make his
usual trips to the markets. In about a year, al
though he was never able after that eventful day
to raise his hands to his head, he married a rather
efficient, pious girl who, as the years rolled on,
bore him twelve children.

Josiah kept the slaves cheerful and busy. He
furnished his master with abundance of money,
which his master used freely on an eighteen-year-
old girl whom he soon married.

The young mistress, in her attempt to save
everything, failed to provide her younger brother,
then living with her, with enough to eat. The boy
went to Josiah with tears in his eyes and asked for
food. Josiah shared his own provisions with him.
However, in spite of the young mistress's frugal
ity, her husband's good times involved him in debt
and in lawsuits with his brother-in-law and
others, and finally in ruin. He went to Josiah's
cabin one cold night in January. As he sat by
the fire warming himself, he began to groan and
wring his hands.

"Sick, master?" said Josiah. He kept on groan-

JOSIAH HENSON [ 197

ing. "Can't I help you any way, master?" con
tinued Josiah.

, Finally pulling himself together, he said, "Oh,
Josiah! I'm ruined, ruined, ruined!"

"How, master?" asked Josiah in excitement.

The master replied, "The courts have ruled
against me, and in less than two weeks every
slave I have will be put up and sold. There
is only one way I can save anything. You can help
me. Won't you, Josiah?"

"Yes", replied Josiah.

His master then said, "I want you to run away,
Josiah, to my brother in Kentucky, and take all
of my slaves with you". Josiah hesitated, saying
that he did not know how to get to Kentucky. His
master prevailed upon him until he promised to
leave the following night for Kentucky.

The next morning Josiah set about making
preparations for his journey. When evening
came on he counted all of the slaves — eighteen in
number, besides himself, his two children and his
wife, He loaded a one-horse wagon with oats,
meal, bacon and children, and set out about eleven
o'clock for Kentucky, nearly a thousand miles
away. The men trudged all the way in the cold.
Occasionally the women rested by getting a ride
on the wagon. After about two months and a half

198 ] UNSUNG HEROES

of wonderful experiences on the road, Josiah and
the other slaves reached Davis County, Kentucky.

In that county Josiah's master's brother owned
a large plantation and about one hundred slaves.
Josiah became superintendent of that plantation
after several months' stay there. He made him
self about as content as he could under the cir
cumstances. He occasionally attended preach
ing services and camp meetings. At the end of
his three years' stay in Kentucky, a Quarterly
Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church
admitted him as a minister. About this time
Josiah's master sent an agent to Kentucky to sell
all his slaves except Josiah and his family, who
were to return to Maryland.

Directed by a Methodist minister, Josiah
preached his way back through Ohio to Maryland,
arriving with two hundred and seventy-five dol
lars, a horse and his first suit of clothes. His mas
ter greeted him, commented upon his fine clothes
and sent him out to feed his horse. Josiah put his
horse in the stable and went to the kitchen, where
he was to sleep. He could not sleep for planning
how to get his master to accept money for his free
dom. His master was not easily persuaded. Nev
ertheless, he accepted three hundred and fifty
dollars in cash as part payment for Josiah's

JOSIAH HENSON [ 199

freedom. Josiah set out again for Kentucky.
Days passed before he was again back in his Ken
tucky cabin with his family. He became angry
as soon as he heard how much more he had to pay
before he could be free, and yet he went about his
work as usual.

A year passed. One day Josiah's master told
him that his son Amos was going to New Orleans
with a flat-boat load of beef cattle, pigs, poultry,
corn and whiskey. He said further that Josiah
was to go with his son. Josiah's countenance fell.
He said he feared he would never return. When
he was ready to go, his wife and children walked
to the landing with him, where he bade them
good-bye.

Young master Amos, Josiah and three other
men were the only persons on the boat. Each
one except Josiah took his turn at the helm, usual
ly under the direction of the captain. Josiah took
three turns to each of the other men's one. He
managed the boat so well that when the captain
was struck totally blind on the trip, all depended
upon him for reaching New Orleans in safety.
However, he did not know the river well enough
to travel by night; therefore the boat had to lay
by when night came on.

One dark, stormy night, when they were within

200 ] UNSUNG HEROES

a few days' sail of New Orleans, Josiah sat knit
ting his brow and beating his breast in apparently
hopeless despair. Suddenly he rose, saying, "I will
kill the four men on the boat, take all the money,
scuttle the boat and escape to the North". He
walked alone on deck, while the other men were
all asleep. Finally he went down, got an ax, and
entered his young master's cabin where he lay
fast asleep. Josiah raised the ax and was about
to strike, but hesitated, saying, "What, commit
murder, and I a Christian?" His arm dropped, the
ax fell to the floor. Then he said to himself, "Ah,
I am glad the thought took hold of me. Evil
deeds cannot be hidden. 'Murder will out.' I
must not lose all the fruits of my effort at im
proving myself. I must not lose my character".
He shrank back and fell upon his knees.

Soon after they arrived in New Orleans, the
cargo was all sold and the men were discharged.
Josiah was to be sold the next day and Master
Amos was to take passage back on a steamboat at
six o'clock that evening.

Josiah could not sleep that night. Just a short
while before daylight, Master Amos called him,
saying, "My stomach is out of order". Josiah
arose and went to him. His illness was so violent
that Josiah saw at once that he had the river fever.

JOSIAH HENSON [ 201

By eight o'clock that morning he was helpless.
He begged Josiah to stick to him until he reached
home again. Josiah sold the flat-boat, placed his
young master and the trunk containing the money
for the cargo on the steamer and was off for Ken
tucky by twelve o'clock that day. As he sat by
his master, bathing his fevered head, he could not
help feeling that God had opened the way for his
return to his family in Kentucky.

During the days that Josiah was preaching his
way through Ohio, he had heard much about fugi
tive slaves. He had also met several men who
were engaged in assisting fugitives to escape. All
of this now came back to him very vividly.

He thought and thought, and then spoke to his
wife about running away to the North. Struck
with fear, she attempted to show him the dangers
in their way. After pleading with her for several
days, he told her one night that he was going to
take the children and go. She, too, then agreed
to go. Josiah wondered now how he could carry
his younger children — one of whom was three
years and the other only two. He placed them in
a tow-sack which his wife had made, lifted it gen
tly across his shoulder and practiced carrying
them on his back. This he did for several nights.

Finally the evening in September agreed upon

202 ] UNSUNG HEROES

for their start came around. Everything was ready
for the venture with one exception — Josiah had
not obtained his master's permission to let little
Tom, the eldest child, come home to see his mother.
About sundown, he went up to the great house to
report his work. After talking with his master for
a time he started off as usual. Suddenly he turned
carelessly back, saying, "Oh, Master Amos, I
almost forgot. Tom's mother wishes to know if
you will let him come down a few days ; she would
like to mend his clothes and fix him up a little".

"Yes, boy, yes, he can go", said Master Amos.

"Thank you, Master Amos, good night", said
Josiah.

"Good night, Josiah", said he.

"The Lord bless you, Master Amos", added
Josiah, as he and Tom struck a trot for home.
Everybody at home was ready to start. The babies
were even sitting in the sack. Soon they were all
at the ferry. About nine o'clock on that moonless
night, Josiah and his family were set across the
river in a little skiff rowed by a fellow slave. They
walked and walked until they were within two
days of reaching Cincinnati, when their food gave
out and they were nearly exhausted. Josiah ven
tured out to beg something for his children to eat.
Finally a good woman filled a plate with salty

JOSIAH HENSON [ 203

venison and bread and gave it to him, saying,
"God bless you".

1 The children ate and then cried for water.
Josiah went in search of water and found a little.
Seeing that his old hat leaked too badly to hold
water, he pulled off both his shoes, rinsed them
out and filled them with water, which he took to
his thirsty children, who drank and drank until
both shoes were drained.

Refreshed with food and water, they arose and
continued their journey. After several weeks'
travel they reached Sandusky, Ohio, where they
secured passage to Buffalo, New York, with a
Scotch captain. The Scotch captain, on reaching
the end of his trip, paid their passage money on
the ferry-boat across to Canada and gave Josiah
one dollar besides. On the twenty-eighth of Oc
tober, 1830, they arrived in Canada.

Josiah Henson began to work for a man with
whom he remained three years. This man gave
Tom, Henson's twelve-year-old son, two quarters'
schooling. Tom soon learned to read well, and he
read a great deal to his father from the Bible on
Sunday mornings when his father was to preach.

One Sunday morning Henson asked Tom
to read. Tom turned to the One-hundred-and-
third Psalm and read: "Bless the Lord, O my

204 ] UNSUNG HEROES

soul: and all that is within me, bless His holy

name".

When he had finished, he turned to his father
and said, "Father, who was David? He writes
prettily, doesn't he?" And then Tom asked
again, "Father, who was David?"

Henson said he was utterly unable to answer
Tom's question, for he had never before heard of
David, but he tried to conceal his embarrassment
by saying, "David was a man of God, my son".

"I suppose so", said Tom, "but I want to know
something more about him. Where did he live?
What did he do?"

Finally Henson said frankly, "I do not know,
Tom".

Tom exclaimed, "Why, Father, can't you read ?"

"I cannot", said Henson.

"Why not?" said Tom.

"Because I never had an opportunity to learn,
nor anybody to teach me", replied Henson.

"Well, you can learn now, Father", said Tom.

"No, my son", answered Henson. "I am too
old and have not time enough. I must work all
day or you would not have enough to eat."

Tom said, "Then you might do it at night".

Henson thought a moment and, looking at
his bright-eyed boy, said, "But still there's no-

JOSIAH HENSON [ 205

body to teach me. I can't afford to pay anybody
for it, and of course, no one can do it for nothing".
'Tom approached his father, saying, "Why
Father, I'll teach you; and then you'll know so
much more you can talk better and preach better".
After wrestling with the matter a short time,
Henson agreed that Tom was right. They began
and continued through the winter to study to
gether every evening by the light of a pine-knot or
some hickory bark, until the coming of spring,
when Henson had learned to read a little.

Now, at the age of fifty years, he was having
some very new experiences. In line with his
thought of establishing a school to help his people,
he went to a Boston friend for aid, who in turn
went to England and raised $15,000 for the school.
With this money two hundred acres of land were
bought at Dawn, Canada, on which, covered as
it was with black walnut timber, a schoolhouse
was built and opened to the public. Later a saw
mill was built on this tract of land and set to
running. The school and the sawmill prospered
for a while, but soon both were in need of funds.

Henson had four black walnut boards so highly
polished that they shone like mirrors. These he
took to London, England, and exhibited at the
World's Industrial Exhibition. For this exhibit

206 ] UNSUNG HEROES

he was awarded a bronze medal and a life-size
picture of the Queen and royal family.

This was neither Henson's first nor his last
trip to that country. After some years of trouble
and sorrow and loss, he returned to England,
just after the news had gone abroad that he was
the original "Uncle Tom" of Harriet Beecher
Stowe's "Uncle Tom's Cabin". This time many
honors were heaped upon him. He even visited
Windsor Castle and was presented to Queen Vic
toria, who presented him with a photograh of her
self on an easel frame of gold.

On his return to the United States in 1878, he
was received at the White House in Washington,
D. C., by President Hayes. Before returning
to Canada to spend the last three years of his life,
he visited the old home place in Charles County,
Maryland, where his former mistress, for whom
he had worked fifty years before, and who was
now poor and decrepit, wept for joy at the sight
of him.

SOJOURNER TRUTH

Chapter XII

SOJOURNER TRUTH

THE SUFFRAGIST
1800-1883

A MONG Isabella's earliest recollections was
jLlLa picture of her father and mother sitting
night after night in their damp cellar, lighted by
a blazing pine-knot, talking over their experiences
of bygone days. Occasionally they would refer to
one snowy morning when an old-fashioned sleigh
drove up to their door and took away their un
suspecting little boy, Michael, and their little girl,
Nancy, locked in the sleigh-box.

Whenever this story was mentioned, Isabella
seemed to fall into a deep study. However, she
was left to remain in Ulster County, New York,
her birthplace, until her mother and father died.
She was then sold to a man whose wife scolded
and frowned at her creeping gait, her dull under
standing and slovenly ways. In spite of his wife's
impatience, the man insisted that Isabella could
do as much work as half a dozen common people
and do it well.

Isabella, therefore, fond of trying to please her

[209]

210 ] UNSUNG HEROES

new master, often worked several nights in suc
cession, taking only short naps as she sat in her
chair. Some nights, fearing that if she sat down
she would sleep too long, she took only cat-naps
while she rested against the kitchen wall.

One morning the potatoes which Isabella had
cooked for breakfast seemed unusually dingy and
dirty. "Look!" said Isabella's mistress to her
husband, "a fine specimen of Bell's work! It is
the way all her work is done!" Isabella's mas
ter scolded her and bade her be more careful in
the future. The two white servant-girls in the
family also abused Isabella for preparing such
food.

Isabella moped around apparently wondering
why the potatoes looked so dingy and dirty. As
she stood wondering how to avoid this the next
time, Gertrude, her mistress's little daughter,
stole quietly up behind her. Said she, catching
Isabella by the arm, "Bell, if you will wake me
early tomorrow morning, I will get up and attend
to your potatoes while you go out to milk the cows.
Then Father and Mother and all of them will not
be scolding you". Isabella bowed, thanked her
and promised to wake her early; then off Ger
trude ran.

The next morning, just as the potatoes began

SOJOUENEK TRUTH [ 211

to boil and milking time came, little Gertrude
walked into the kitchen and seated herself in the
Corner by the fire. She opened her little sewing
basket and busied herself with making something
for her doll. As she sat there, one of the maids
came in with the broom in her hand and ordered
her out, but Gertrude refused to go. The maid
began to sweep hurriedly. When she reached the
fireplace, she pretended to be in such a hurry, she
caught up a handful of ashes and quickly dashed
them into the potatoes. Gertrude ran out of the
kitchen, saying, "Oh, Poppee ! oh, Poppee ! the girl
has been putting ashes into Bell's potatoes ! I saw
her do it! Look at those that fell on the outside
of the kettle!" She ran about the house and yard
telling her story to every one. Her father listened
to her story, called the maid in and, brandishing
his fist at her, gave her orders to let Bell alone.

For many years, Isabella tried harder each year
to please her master. Even after she had married
and become the mother of five children, she obeyed
him to such an extent that she would not steal
even a crust of bread for her hungry children.
When her household duties were done, she went
to the field to work. After placing her baby child
in a basket, she tied a rope to each handle and
suspended the basket to the branches of a tree.

212 ] UNSUNG HEROES

She then set one of the larger children to swing
the basket "in order to make the baby happy and
keep the snakes away", she said.

Isabella's master promised that if she would
continue to be faithful he would set her free one
year before all the slaves in New York State
were to be free. As the time drew near, her master
claimed that because of her sore hand that year,
she had been of less value and would therefore
have to remain longer. However, Isabella decided
to remain only until she had spun all his wool.

One fine morning, a little before daybreak, she
stepped away from the rear of her master's house
with her baby boy on one arm and her clothes and
provisions tied in a cotton handkerchief on the
other. Fortunately, she landed in the home of a
man who made no practice of buying and selling
people. Nevertheless, he gave Isabella's master,
who came in search of her, twenty- five dollars for
her freedom.

Just before Isabella left her master, he had
sold her five-year-old boy to a man who was on
his way to England. The man, finding the boy
too small for his services, sent him back to his
brother, who in turn sold the boy to his brother-in-
law in another state. When Isabella heard that
her boy had been sold and sent away, she started

SOJOURNER TRUTH [ 213

out to find the guilty party and, if possible, to
make him return her boy.

• She went to her former mistress and others con
cerned in the sale, saying, "I'll have my child
again". Finally she went to her former master,
who told her to go to the Quakers and they would
assist her. Straightway she went to the home of
a Quaker family. They welcomed her and placed
her in a room where there was a high, clean, white
bed. In all of her twenty-seven years she had
never slept in a bed. She sat for a long time look
ing at the bed and getting ready to crawl under it.
However, she finally crawled gently up into the
bed and soon fell asleep. The next morning, her
Quaker friends took her nearly to town and gave
her directions for reaching the court-house, where
she made complaint to the grand jury.

On reaching the court-house, she entered.
Thinking that the first fine-looking man she saw
was the grand jury, she began to complain to
him about her boy. He listened for a few moments
and then told her that there was no grand jury
there ; she must go upstairs. When she had made
her way upstairs through the crowd, she again
went to the grandest-looking man she saw. Im
mediately she began to tell him that she came to
make her complaint to the grand jury. Greatly

214 ]

he asked what her complaint was. As
soon as die began in her impressive way to tell her
story, he said, pointing to a certain door. "This
is no place to enter a complaint — go in there".

She went in, and finding the grand jurors sit
ting; began to tell her story. One of the jurors
asked if she could swear that was her be

"Yes", Ac answered, "I swear it's my son."
"Stop, stopr said the lawyer, "you must swear
by this Bible." Taking the Bible, she placed it to
her Hps and began to swear it was her chflcL The
clerks in the office burst into an uproar of laugh-
. ^ ~ ric ~ ~ UQDS seemed to disturb I sa

After understanding that die was simply to make
a pledge of her truthfulness with her hand upon

:r/r Bihle. she i.i 5 : and hurried away. With a
of paper, called a writ, in her hand for the
of the man who had sent her boy away,
die trotted to the constable eight miles off. Al-

D

though the constable by mistake served the writ
on the wrong brother, it had its effect. The brother
who had sold the boy went in hiding until he could
dip away to get the boy.

The distance was great and trarel in those days
was slow. Autumn days came and went and then
winter, and finally spring came before the man
arrived with the boy. Onring all these months

SOJOITEXEB TKUTH [ 215

Isabella kept going about seeing this friend
and that one, until she said she was afraid that she
had worried all of her friends, even God himself.
nearly to death.

The news finally reached her that her boy had
come, but that he denied having any mother.
When she reached the place where her boy Peter
was, he cried aloud against this tall, dark, bony
woman with a white turban on her head. He knelt
down and begged with tears not to be taken from
his kind master. When some one asked him about
the bad scar on his forehead, he said, "Master's
horse hove me there". And then some one else
asked about the scar on his cheek. He said. "That
was done by running against Master's carriage".
As he answered both of these questions, he looked
wistfully at his master, as much as to say, "If they
are falsehoods, you bade me say them : may they
be satisfactory to you, at least".

Kind words and candies at last quieted Peter
and he said, looking at his mother. "Well, you do
look like my mother used to look". They embraced
each oilier and went their way.

After Isabella and Peter had been free one
year they went to Xew York City to live.
Peter was growing tall and rather nice-look
ing, in spite of his hard life. He often attracted

216 ] UNSUNG HEROES

attention by his winsome way; but tempted
by the gay life of New York City, he was soon
drawn into a circle of boys whose sole object
was to have a good time. He began to con
ceal from his mother those things of which he
thought she would not approve. For example,
for two years he was known among his worthless
companions as Peter Williams, without his moth
er's knowledge of his new name. However, a
friend of Isabella's, much pleased with Peter's
appearance and bright mind, said that Peter
should have an education if any one else should.
Believing this, she paid ten dollars as tuition for
him to enter a navigation school. Instead of at
tending school, Peter went irregularly, making
some reasonable excuse each time to his teacher for
not being able to attend school that day. Isabella
and her friend, believing that Peter was doing
well in school, secured for him a part-time job as
coachman. Peter soon sold the livery and other
things belonging to his employer.

He became involved in one difficulty after an
other, but each time Isabella managed to get him
out. Each time she tried to reason with Peter.
He would always confess, saying that he never
intended to do wrong, but had been led along little
by little until before he knew it, he was in serious

SOJOUBNEK TRUTH [217

trouble. At last, seeing no improvement in her
son, Isabella made up her mind to let him go un
assisted in his difficulties. Finally, he fell into
the hands of the police, who sent for Mr. Peter
Williams, a barber. Mr. Williams's interest was
so aroused by the boy's having his name, that he
paid the fine on Peter's promise to leave New
York City on a vessel sailing within a week.

Mr. Williams seemed surprised to find that the
boy had such a mother as Isabella. Isabella said
that she was afraid lest her son would deceive Mr.
Williams and be missing when the vessel sailed.
However, Peter sailed ; though for over a month
Isabella lived in fear of seeing him emerge from
some by-street in New York City. More than
a year had passed when Isabella received the
following letter:

My dear and beloved Mother:

I take this opportunity to write to you and inform you
that I am well, and in hopes of finding you the same. I got
on board the same unlucky ship "Done of Nantucket". I
am sorry to say that I have been punished once severely by
shoving my head in the fire for other folks. We have had
bad luck, but in hopes of having better. We have about 230
on board, but in hopes, if we do have good luck, that my
parents will receive me with thanks.

I would like to know how my sisters are. Do my cousins
live in New York yet? Have you received my letter? If
not, inquire of Mr. Peirce Whitings. I wish you would
write me an answer as soon as possible. I am your only

218 ] UNSUNG HEROES

son, that is so far from home, in the wide, briny ocean. I
have seen more of the world than I ever expected, and if I
ever return home safe, I will tell you all my troubles and
hardships. Mother, I hope you do not forget me, your
dear and only son. I should like to know how Sophia and
Betsy and Hannah are. I hope you all will forgive me for
all that I have done. Your son,

PETER VAN WAGNER.

Isabella's last annual letter from Peter said
that if he did not do well, she need not expect him
home in five years. During the five years of ex
pectant waiting, Isabella joined Zion's Church,
in Church Street, New York City, where she wor
shiped for some time. One Sunday morning, after
services, a tall, well-dressed woman came up
and made herself known to Isabella as her sister
Sophia who had just moved to New York City.
She also brought to meet Isabella her brother
Michael, whom Isabella had never seen. The
brother Michael told Isabella that her sister
Nancy, who had been for many years a member
of Zion Church, had just passed away. As he de
scribed his sister Nancy's features, her manner,
her dress, and named her class leader, Isabella
stood shaking as though she would fall to the
floor. She caught hold of the back of a bench, ex
claiming, "I knelt at the altar with her. I took
the Lord's Supper with her. I shook hands with

SOJOURNER TRUTH [ 219

her! Was that my sister who was taken away
one snowy morning in the sleigh? Are you my
brother Michael who was taken away in the sleigh-
box?" The three of them stood there mingling
their tears each with the other.

While Isabella was a member of Zion Church
she often visited the pavement meetings of a band
of religious fanatics. These fanatics were in the
habit of fasting every Friday and sometimes as
long as two nights and three days, refusing even a
cup of cold water. Isabella asked one of the leaders
why he fasted. He said that fasting gave him
great light on the things of God. "Well", said
Isabella, "if fasting will give light inwardly and
spiritually, I need it as much as anybody, and
I'll fast too". She further said, "If such a good
man as that needs to fast two nights and three
days, then I certainly ought to fast more. I will
fast three nights and three days".

She fasted three nights and three days, not
drinking even so much as a drop of water. The
fourth morning when she arose and tried to stand,
she fell to the floor. Feeling very empty and light,
she crawled to the pantry, but fearing, as she says,
that she might now offend God by eating too
much, she compelled herself to eat dry bread and
drink water. Before she felt strong enough to

220 ] UNSUNG HEROES

walk she had eaten a six-penny loaf of bread. She
says that she did get light, but it was all in her
body and none in her mind.

During Isabella's first years in New York City,
she was always trying to place a little money from
time to time in the savings bank for the rainy
day. Influenced by her fanatic friends, she drew
her money from the savings bank and placed it
in their common treasury, or kingdom, as they
called it, not even asking about interest or taking
account of what she had put in. In later years
Isabella often said in her witty way, "The only
thing I recovered from the wreck of that common
kingdom was a few pieces of old furniture".

With all of her savings gone, she started anew,
working early and late, to lay aside enough to buy
a home for herself in her advanced age. If the
people in the home where she worked gave her
fifty cents to hire a poor man to clean away the
snow, she arose early, performed the task herself
and pocketed the money. She began to feel that
she, too, was robbing the poor in her selfish
grasping.

She talked much about this. It seemed to prey
on her mind. Finally she decided to leave New
York City and travel east and lecture. With the
secret locked in her own bosom, she made ready

SOJOUKNER TRUTH [ 221

for leaving by placing a few articles of clothing
in a pillow-case. About an hour before starting
but, she went to the woman at whose house she
was staying and said, "My name is no longer
Isabella, but 'Sojourner'. I am going east. The
spirit calls me there, and I must go".

On the morning of June 1, 1843, Sojourner,
now forty-three years old, set out from New York
City with her pillow-case in one hand, a little
basket of provisions in the other and two York
shillings in her purse. As she crossed over to
Brooklyn, she says she thought of Lot's wife, and,
wishing to avoid her fate, was determined not to
look back until New York City was far in the
distance. When night came on she sought for a
lodging place wherever she could find one.

It was her plan, as she explained, when she be
came weary of travel and needed rest, to stop at
some home for a few days. The very first time
she felt the need of rest badly, as she walked along
the road, a man addressed her, asking if she were
looking for work. "Sir", she said in her queenly
way, "that's not the object of my travels, but if
you need me I can help you out for a few days".
She went in and worked so faithfully that the man
offered her at the time of her departure what
seemed to her a large sum of money. Refusing all

222 ] UNSUNG HEROES

except two or three York shillings which she con
sidered sufficient to take her on her mission, she
went her way.

After she had traveled far out on Long Island,
one evening, in her search for a night's lodging,
she met two Indians who took her for an acquaint
ance. They asked if she were alone. Not knowing
anything at all about them, she replied, "No, not
exactly", and kept going.

In her search for lodging places, Sojourner
Truth occasionally went into dance-halls and
hovels of the lowest kind. Nevertheless, she trav
eled on foot lecturing in many New York and
Connecticut towns. Then led, as she claimed, by
the spirit, she continued her journey to North
ampton, Massachusetts.

One night, while she was living at Northamp
ton, she attended a camp-meeting which was being
held in the open air. Those attending the meeting
slept in tents. A company of boys present said
they were going to set fire to all the tents. Those
in charge of the meeting sent for the sheriff to
arrest the ring-leaders. Sojourner Truth rushed
to hide in one corner of a tent. She said, "Shall I
run away and hide from the devil? Me a servant
of the Living God? Have I not faith enough to
go out and quell that mob when I know it is writ-

SOJOURNER TRUTH [ 223

ten one shall chase a thousand and two put ten
thousand to flight?" She walked out from her
hiding-place, under the moonlight, to the top of
a small rise of ground and began to sing:

It was early in the morning — it was early in the morning,

Just at the break of day —
When He rose — when He rose — when He rose —

And went to heaven on a cloud.

The boys with their sticks and clubs made a
rush towards her and crowded around her. She
stopped singing and after a few minutes asked in
a gentle but firm tone, "Why do you come about
me with clubs and sticks? I am not doing harm to
any one".

Many of them said, "We are not going to hurt
you, old woman. We came to hear you sing".

"Sing to us", another cried.

"Tell us your experience", said another.

"You stand and smoke so near me, I can't sing
or talk", she answered. They immediately re
moved their cigarettes and cigars. At their sug
gestion and with their help, she climbed upon a
wagon nearby and spoke and sang for nearly an
hour. Upon asking the third time if they would go
away and act like men, all yelled out, "Yes, yes!"

She traveled a great deal, holding many meet
ings for the sake of the freedom of her people.

224 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Imagine this big, bony, black woman, six feet
tall, walking along the highway or riding along
with a small clay pipe in her mouth from which
rolled columns of smoke. One evening she was
riding in the State of Iowa on a railroad train.
A man sitting in a seat just behind her saw her
smoking and said to her, "Do you believe in the
Bible?"

"I do", she replied.

"Well, then", said he, "what can be more filthy
than the breath of a smoker? Doesn't the Bible
say no unclean thing shall enter the kingdom of
heaven?"

"Yes, child", she answered, "but when I go to
heaven I expect to leave my breath behind me".

Even before the Civil War, she held meetings
in many states. At the close of a meeting in
Ohio one evening, a man came up to her and said,
"Old woman, do you think that your talk about
slavery does any good? Do you suppose people
care what you say? I don't care any more for
your talk than I do for the bite of a flea".

"Perhaps not", she answered, "but the Lord
willing, I'll keep you a-scratching."

Once when she was out on a speaking tour she
met a man who asked, "What business are you
following now?"

SOJOURNER TRUTH [ 225

She quickly replied, "Years ago when I lived
in New York City my occupation was scouring
brass door-knobs, but now I go about scouring
copper-heads".

She could neither read nor write. She seemed
to know, however, something about many of the
big subjects of the day, such as "Suffrage", "Tem
perance" and "Abolition". She even attended the
first big woman's suffrage convention, held in
Ohio. This convention was held in a church. So-
journer Truth marched in like a queen and sat on
the pulpit steps. In those days men thought
women should not vote. The men and even the
boys were laughing at the women and teasing
them for holding such a meeting.

Old "Sojourner Truth" rose and walked out in
front of the speakers' table. She took off her sun-
bonnet and laid it at her feet. Many of the women
said, "Don't let that old woman speak. She will
do us harm".

But the presiding officer rapped on the table
for order and "Sojourner Truth" began by
saying, "Well, children, where there is so much
racket there must be something out of kilter".
She had something sharp to say in reply to every
minister who had spoken. One minister had said
that women should not vote because Eve had acted

226 ] UNSUNG HEROES

so badly. To him she said, "If the first woman
God ever made was strong enough to turn the
world upside down, all alone, these together
[glancing around over all the women] ought to
be able to turn it right side up again".

She took her seat in the midst of great applause.
Many women rushed to her, shook her hand and
said, "You have saved the day".

One day while Lincoln was President of the
United States, Sojourner, old and bent, walked
into the marble room of the Senate Chamber. It
was an hour not soon to be forgotten. Senators
rose and shook her hand. They asked her to speak.
As she spoke, some sat with tears in their eyes.
When she had finished they shook her hand again,
gave her a purse and bade her good-bye. A Wash
ington Sunday paper had a long article about
Sojourner Truth's speaking to the United States
Senators. This article said: "Sojourner Truth
has had a marvelously strange life. The leaven of
love must be working in the hearts of all people".

In her old age and suffering, Sojourner Truth
was supported by a friend. The end came at
Battle Creek, Michigan, November 26, 1883.

CRISPUS ATTUCKS

Wild* ft* WilKiNSON.
CRISPUS ATTUCKS SPOKE AGAINST THE BRITISH SOLDIERS.

Chapter XIII

CRISPUS ATTUCKS
1723-1770

ATTUCKS was born many years
V_>4 ago, at some place, but nobody in the world
seems to know just where. And no one seems to
know anything at all about him, or about his
people, except that he was a sailor. He received
public notice just twice in his lifetime. The first
time it was through an advertisement in a Boston
newspaper, which came out on the second of
October, 1750. The advertisement read:

Ran away from his master, William Brown of Framing-
ham, on the 30th of September, last, a Molatto-Fellow,
about twenty-seven years of age, named Crispus, 6 feet 2
inches high, short curl'd hair, his knees nearer together
than common; had on a light color'd Bearskin Coat, plain
brown Fustain Jacket, or brown all-wool one, new Buck
skin Breeches, blue yarn stockings, and a checked woolen
shirt.

Whoever shall take up said Runaway, and convey him to
his above said Master, shall have ten pounds, Old Tenor
Reward, and all necessary charges paid.

Boston, Oct. 2, 1750.

The name of Crispus Attucks appeared in the
Boston papers just once more, and that was

[229 ]

230 ] UNSUNG HEROES

twenty years later, at the time of the Boston Mas
sacre. In those days Crispus Attucks knew noth
ing about the United States, and nobody else did,
for there were no United States. There were only
the American colonies of Great Britain.

Because Great Britain knew that these colonies
were angry with her, she sent several regiments
of soldiers over to Boston, Massachusetts. These
soldiers were to make the colonies obey England.
Every one in Boston seemed to be speaking
against these British soldiers.

Finally a group of men led by Crispus Attucks
began to pelt them with missiles and chunks of
ice, and to dare them to fire their guns, but the
British soldiers fired. Shells from their guns
struck Crispus Attucks and three other men.
Crispus Attucks and one of the men, by the name
of Caldwell, fell dead. The other two were mor
tally wounded.

The whole city of Boston was in an uproar.
Bells were ringing everywhere, and people were
running here and there as if they were crazy. In
the midst of all of this excitement, the bodies of
Crispus Attucks and Caldwell were taken into
Faneuil Hall. It is said that their faces were
looked upon by the largest gathering of people

CRISPUS ATTUCKS [ 231

ever assembled there. One of the men who fell
was buried from his mother's home. Another was
'buried from his brother's home, but Attucks and
Caldwell, being strangers in the city, were buried
from Faneuil Hall.

The four hearses bearing the bodies of the dead
men met in King Street. From there the funeral
procession moved in columns six deep. There was
an extended line of carriages containing the first
citizens of Boston. The four bodies were buried
in one grave, and over the grave was placed a
stone with this inscription :

Long as in Freedom's cause the wise contend,
Dear to your Country shall your fame extend;
While to the world the lettered stone shall tell
Where Caldwell, Attucks, Gray and Maverick fell.

Crispus Attucks is sometimes called a madcap,
because he led the Boston Massacre charge, which
was the beginning of the Revolutionary War.
He had apparently been around Boston for some
years and had listened to the fiery speeches of
some of the orators of that day.

A memorial shaft was later erected on Bos
ton Common to the memory of these men, and a
memorial tablet was placed on State Street in
Boston.

CRISPITS ATTUCKS

•23-2 ]

£MN| at ike D^Ktmtitm of ike Crupu Aitmck* Mi
m B^tom, November 14, 1888

Where shall we seek for a hero, and where shall we find a

story ?

Oar laurels are wreathed for conquest, oar songs for corn-

But we honor a shrine unfinished, a column uncapped with

If we sing the deed that was sown like seed when Crispus
Attucks

Shall we take for a sign this Negro-slare with unfamiliar

With his poor companions, ™~*l*«« too. till their lives

leaped forth in lame?

Yea, sorely, the verdict is not for us to render or deny ;
We emu only interpret the symbol; God chose these men

to,'i* _
OBC

As teachers and types, that to humble lives may chief

award be made;
That from lowly ones, and rejected stones, the temple's

base is !••!!

When the ballets leaped from the British guns, no chance

decreed their aim:
Men see what the royal hirelings saw — a multitude and a

Bui beyond the •amr, a mystery; five dying men in the
street,

While the streams of several races in the well of a nation
•I

CEISPU8 ATTUCKS

O, blood of the people! changeless tide, through century,
creed and race!

Still one as the sweet salt sea is one, though tempered by
sun and place;

The same in the ocean currents, and the same in the shel
tered seas;

Forever the fountain of common hopes and kindly sympa
thies ;

Indian and Negro, Saxon and Celt, Teuton and Latin and
Gaul —

Mere surface shadow and sunshine; while the sounding
unifies all !

One love, one hope, one duty theirs! No matter the til
or ken,

There never was separate heart-beat in all the races of

But alien is one — of class, not race — he has drawn the line

for himself ;
His roots drink life from inhuman soil, from garbage of

pomp and pelf;
His heart beats not with the common beat, he has changed

his life-stream's hue;
He deems his flesh to be finer flesh, he boasts that his

blood is blue:

Patrician, aristocrat, tory — whatever his age or name,
To the people's rights and liberties, a traitor ever the same.
The natural crowd is a mob to him, their prayer a vulgar

rhyme;
The freeman's speech is sedition, and the patriot's deed a

crime.

Wherever the race, the law, the land — whatever the time,

or throne,
The tory is always a traitor to every class but his own.

234 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Thank God for a land where pride is clipped, where arro
gance stalks apart;

Where law and song and loathing of wrong are words of
the common heart;

Where the masses honor straightforward strength, and
know, when veins are bled,

That the bluest blood is putrid blood — that the people's
blood is red !

And honor to Crispus Attucks, who was leader and voice

that day;
The first to defy, and the first to die, with Maverick, Carr,

and Gray.
Call it riot or revolution, his hand first clenched at the

crown ;
His feet were the first in perilous place to pull the king's

flag down;
His breast was the first one rent apart that liberty's stream

might flow;
For our freedom now and forever, his head was the first

laid low.

— John Boyle O'Reilly.

ALEXANDRE DUMAS

Chapter XIV

ALEXANDRE DUMAS

PLAYWRIGHT AND NOVELIST
1802-1870

A LEXANDRE DUMAS was the son of a

±\. French general. Once Alexandre went to
Paris with his father to see a friend, and while
talking with this friend, the general said, pointing
to Alexandre, "After I am dead, I want you to
help my boy".

His friend replied, "Oh, you will outlive me".

The general, however, did not live long after
this. He died when Alexandre was only four
years old. Then this rosy-cheeked, curly-headed
boy had no one to help him but his poor mother,
whom he kept busy. One moment he was pointing
to letters here and there and asking about them;
the next moment, he was begging for a story;
and the next moment, he was into something else.
It was not long before this busy boy was putting
words together and beginning to read, but his
mother was so poor that he could not go to school
until he was ten years old.

The first day he went to school, he wore a suit
of clothes which his mother had made out of a
riding coat once worn by his father. His school-

[237]

238 ] UNSUNG HEROES

mates hustled him around and even squirted water
on him until his new suit was all wet. He sat
down and cried bitterly. Suddenly, the teacher
appeared on the scene. All the pupils gathered
around the weeping boy in seeming real surprise,
saying, "Why is he crying; what is the matter
with him?"

The teacher made his way to the boy, bent
down over him, and asked, "What is the trouble,
Alexandre?" Alexandre looked up and was about
to open his mouth, when he saw all the children
behind the teacher shaking their fists and their
heads at him.

The teacher suddenly turned around. All the
pupils were smiling. "Tell me what it is all about",
said the teacher.

"We can't make out", said the pupils, "he has
been crying that way ever since he came." Alex
andre then blurted out the whole story and showed
the teacher his wet clothes.

"Very well", said the teacher, "I shall whip
every one of you, and you shall have no recess
today. March into the room."

In the meantime the pupils cast fierce glances
at Alexandre and called him a spy. Time passed
rapidly, and soon school was dismissed. All left
hurriedly, as it seemed, for their homes, but just

ALEXANDRE DUMAS [ 239

around the corner, the fighting gang waited for
Alexandre. The ringleader laid off his coat and
walked up to him with his fists clenched. Alex
andre drew back and gave him a staggering blow
which knocked him flat to the ground. The others
in the gang rolled up their sleeves and strutted
about, saying in French what they would do.

This happened in France more than one hun
dred years ago, for Alexandre Dumas was born
on the 24th of July, 1802. His native town was
Cotterets, forty miles from Paris, and twenty-
one miles from Chateau-Thierry.

After his father died, he often went hungry and
shabbily clad, until he was old enough to work.
One day he walked and walked, looking for a job,
but nothing seemed to turn up. Now that it was
about time for offices to close, he started home, but
decided to try one more place. He walked into a
nice-looking office and asked for work. The head
man said, "Do you know how to fold letters?"

Dumas hesitated a moment and replied, "I can
learn, sir, pretty quickly".

The man then asked, "Do you know how to get
to your work on time?"

"Yes, sir!" said Dumas.

"Then you may come in tomorrow morning",
said the man.

240 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Dumas hurried home. He rushed into the house
and called his mother. His cheeks and his lips
were flushed like a red rose. He said, "Mother,
I am so happy. I have an office job. Now I can
help you, Mother". The evening passed joyously,
and the next morning he walked briskly to his
work.

All day long he was busy at the office, dusting
the furniture, folding letters, sealing and mailing
them, running errands and taking care of visitors
who came to the office. When evening came, he
was very tired, but not too tired to read and study
a little.

Some of the boys in the office tried to tease him
about studying so much, nevertheless he kept on
working and studying. In a few months, he be
gan to tease them because he had been promoted
to a better job as clerk and they remained in their
same positions. He seemed very happy and kept
on reading and studying at night.

One afternoon while he was reading, he saw the
following advertisement, "Shakespeare's Ham
let" ! At once he was interested, for he had read
about the writer Shakespeare and had read the
play called "Hamlet".

"I must see this play; but it is given out of
town", he said as he read further. However, he

ALEXANDRE DUMAS [ 241

repeated, "I must see this play". He hurriedly
put on the best clothes he had, reached the station,
boarded the train, and in forty minutes was in
the little town where the play was being given.
He made his way to the theatre at once and fol
lowed every movement of the actors.

He said at the close of the performance, "I
must see a play now in a larger theatre in Paris".

This determination to go to a Paris theatre con
tinued, until one afternoon he dressed in his long
coat, which touched his heels, brushed his hair,
which was ridiculously long, and set out for Paris.
Just as he entered the theatre, some one cried out,
"Oh, what a head!"

People began to laugh at him. Soon an
usher came up. "Tickets", said he. Alexandre
handed him his ticket. He took it, looked at it
and looked at Alexandre; then he shook his
head. Alexandre stood there, in spite of the
fact that the usher kept saying, "Your ticket
is no good. Your ticket is no good". Angry be
cause he had been deceived in buying his ticket,
Alexandre Dumas stood there until the ushers
came and put him out.

In spite of his first night at a Paris theatre,
Alexandre Dumas seemed enthusiastic about the
theatre. He spent all of his spare time in writing

242 ] UNSUNG HEROES

plays, which no publisher would publish. One
publisher said to him, "Get yourself a name and
then I'll publish your books".

Nevertheless, he often visited the theatre and
kept on studying and writing. Finally, he finished
a play which he named "Christine". One day,
although he was just a boy clerk in an office, he
had the boldness to say, " 'Christine' will be played
in the finest theatre in Paris".

Soon after "Christine" was finished, the great
theatre of Paris accepted it. On the evening that
the first performance of it was given, Alexandre
Dumas sat in this fine Paris theatre with a cheap
suit of clothes on, while all around him sat the
great actors of France in their finery and splen
dor. The curtain rose on the beautiful scenery.
The actors came forward, talking, making ges
tures and performing. The audience seemed
pleased with every act and applauded loudly.

When the performance was all over and the
curtain had fallen, Dumas ran home to tell his
mother of this wonderful evening. He ran so fast
that he lost the only copy of his play. However,
the play was all in his head and so he sat up that
night and wrote it out again.

He set to work, and in two months, wrote an
other play, which he called "Henri III". Just as

ALEXANDRE DUMAS [ 243

he was about finishing this play, the head man in
his office said to him one day, "Dumas, you must
either give all of your time to your office work or
lose your job. I can't have any theatre man
around".

He held his job, however, and finished the play.
"Henri III" was very popular. On the evening
when a performance of it was given, the gallery
of the theatre was filled with princes and nobles.
The boxes were filled with ladies glittering with
diamonds. All the writers of Paris were out.
Every seat in the theatre was taken a week before
the play was given.

While the play was being presented, Dumas
hurried away between the acts to see his mother,
who was very ill. The next day, every one in Paris
was talking about this brilliant young writer.
The rich people of Paris sent so many beautiful
flowers to his sick mother that they almost filled
the little room where she lay. By two o'clock that
afternoon, the first copy of this play, called the
manuscript, had been sold for $1,164. Each per
formance of the play brought him $1,212.50. In
later years, he even had a grand theatre of his own
built for his plays.

In addition to his plays, Dumas wrote stories.
One day he sat down and wrote a story very

244 ] UNSUNG HEROES

quickly. "Ah," he said, "I am going to keep at
this." He kept at it until he wrote the two great
stories called "The Count of Monte Cristo" and
"The Three Musketeers". He also wrote many
stories about his grandmother, who was a native
African woman. In one year, it is said he pub
lished about forty books.

Once he promised to write so many books for
a certain company that the company began to look
into the matter, and discovered that Dumas was
hiring young writers to write stories, which he
edited and changed to suit his own style. Dumas
was arrested and tried. The judge said, "Alex-
andre Dumas is paying these writers for their
works and is thus helping them. He is so chang
ing their writings that they sound like his own.
He is not guilty of any offense". Many young
writers, apparently fond of him, spoke in his de
fense. His door was hardly free for a moment
from strangers, who were coming and going, ask
ing his opinion on their writings.

It is said that he was just about as extravagant
as he was famous. He wore handsome and even
gaudy clothes, kept fine horses, and gave many
dinner parties. After some years all this was
changed. He lost control of his great theatre and
was sunk in debt.

ALEXANDRE DUMAS [245

Years passed and little was heard of his plays ;
but later they were revived. On the same night,
three years before his death, four of his plays were
being given in four of the largest theatres in
Paris. Again people in the theatres were crying
out, "Long live Dumas!"

Even in his old age, he worked almost without
stopping. While he was in the home of his son
in Puys, France, his brain and his limbs became
so paralyzed that he died on the fifth of December,
1870. Two years after his death, the name of the
street in Paris on which his house stood was
changed to "Rue Alexandre Dumas", or Alex
ander Dumas Street, in memory of him.

Thirteen years after his death, the French
people erected in Paris a monument to his mem
ory. He is represented sitting with a book in his
left hand and a pen in his right; in front of the
pedestal there are three figures — a young woman
represented as reading, and two men, one of them
in workman's garb; the idea being to show how
popular he was among all classes. At the back of
the pedestal, there is a fine figure of one dressed
as a musketeer or soldier.

The citizens of his native town — Cotterets —
also erected to his memory a monument on Alex
ander Dumas Street.

PAUL CUFFE

PAUL CUFFE'S BRIG.

Chapter XV

PAUL CUFFE

THE SAILOR
1759-1817

Cuffe home at Westport, Massachusetts,
JL was always ringing with laughter and merri
ment. Somebody in that family of four sturdy
boys, six girls, mother and father, was ever ready
with a snappy joke, or a ghostly yarn which
sometimes made even the old folks afraid to go
to bed.

One night the family was seated around the
hearth. Father Cuffe began to tell what he called
a true story about his native country. He rose and
pictured a great boa-constrictor gliding into his
African home and swallowing a little boy. As
he represented the great open mouth of that huge
snake with the boy slipping down its throat, one
of the girls jumped and looked behind her. The
boys laughed very heartily and pointed their fin
gers at her, saying, "You thought that boa-con
strictor had you!" Mrs. Cuffe, who was of Indian
descent, attracted the family's attention just at

[249]

250 ] UNSUNG HEROES

that point by springing forth suddenly with a
war-whoop and dance.

As soon as this came to an end, Paul Cuffe, the
youngest of the boys, began telling one of his
whale stories. He, too, arose and described his
boat as it rocked to and fro on a stormy sea. He
pictured his men tugging at a great whale, which
suddenly pulled one of them overboard. Just
then one of Paul's brothers gave a quick jerk on
Paul's coat-tail. Paul leaped forward, looked
back and landed flat on the floor. His sisters and
brothers laughed and laughed until some of them
said their sides ached.

Such evenings in the Cuffe farmhouse at West-
port were common until Father Cuffe died. Paul
was then fourteen years old. For two years, he
and his brothers worked their poor farm of one
hundred acres and thus supported their mother
and sisters as best they could.

Every day spent in the field seemed harder and
harder to Paul. He had made up his mind, he
said, to try his fortune on the sea, but dreaded to
tell his mother. One morning he lingered around
until there was no one in the house but him and
his mother. "Mother", he said, "I am big for my
age, and if I can get a job on a schooner, I can

PAUL CUFFE [251

earn a man's wages. I can make it on the sea
better than on the land."

1 His mother held up both hands, saying, "Paul,
my dear boy, can't you find something else to do?
Sailors are such rough men. They drink, they
swear, they are reckless".

"Mother", said he, "I have always longed to be a
sailor. Give me your consent." For several days
there was no laughter in the Cuffe home. Paul's
mother said she feared he would be swallowed up
by the angry waves or by a whale.

During these days, Paul was as busy as he
could be trying to get a job on a schooner. Final
ly, he succeeded in hiring out as a common hand
on a vessel leaving on a whaling expedition for the
Bay of Mexico. His mother was sure now that
Paul would never return alive, so she gave him a
small Bible and her blessing. He kissed her good
bye, pressed her hand and assured her that he
would remain a good boy.

By nine o'clock the next morning, everything
was in readiness for the start. The wind was favor
able. The skipper was on board. Every sailor was
busy making sail or getting up the heavy anchor.
At length the schooner glided away from the
shore.

For a time, Paul and the rest of the hands

252 ] UNSUNG HEROES

were busy coiling lines, stowing away odds and
ends and making the vessel comfortable. As soon
as Paul had a few spare moments he filled a small
keg with fresh water and put several dozen ship-
biscuits into a box, around which he wrapped an
old oilskin jacket. One of the boys on board
laughed at him and said in loud tones, "Are you
afraid of being lost in a fog? Boy, your mamma's
apron strings are many miles away. You should
have been tied to them instead of being on a boat."

One of Paul's friends started to answer back,
but Paul said, "Let him alone. It will make him
feel worse not to be noticed at all".

The schooner tugged away until the end of the
journey was finally reached. The trip was excit
ing to say the least; and their return trip was
equally exciting. They had been gone for some
weeks. In those days vessels traveled only about
seven knots an hour. Paul had just a few hours
at home with his mother before setting out on a
trip to the West Indies. At the end of this trip,
he seemed to feel that he was a full-fledged sailor.
It had taken him only two weeks to get sufficient
experience in navigation to command a vessel. He
went out on a third voyage, but the Revolutionary
War broke out. His ship was run down and cap-

PAUL CUFFE [ 253

tured by a British ship, and he was held as a pris
oner for three months.

1 After his release, Cuffe had to give up the sea
for two years. He visited the Island of Cutty-
hunk, near New Bedford, where he was born.
Then he returned to his home at Westport,
worked on the farm and gave much of his time to
the betterment of his people. He was not yet
twenty years old, but he and his brother drew up
a petition and presented it to the Massachusetts
Legislature. This petition asked that all free
people of Massachusetts be given the full rights
of citizens. The Massachusetts Legislature care
fully considered this respectful petition. Soon
afterward it passed an act granting to all free
people, irrespective of color, the full privileges of
citizens.

Cuffe was busy these two years and yet his old
longing for business and for the sea, he said, kept
stealing over him. He laid before his brother,
David, a plan for trading with the people of Con
necticut. His brother agreed to the plan. They
built an open boat and put out to sea, but his
brother's fears so increased that he resolved to
turn back. Paul finally submitted and returned
home.

He worked a while for more materials and

254 ] UNSUNG HEROES

again put out to sea, but soon lost all he had. He
went home and set himself to the task of making
a boat from keel to gunwale. It was without a
deck, but Paul had been on whaling expeditions
and was thereby skilled in its management. He
launched his boat into the ocean. As he was
steering for Cutty hunk, one of the Elizabeth Is
lands, to consult his brother about future plans,
he was discovered by pirates, who chased his ves
sel, ran it down and captured both it and him.

He went home again and applied to his brother
David for materials to build another boat. When
the boat was finished, through his credit (on his
respectability), he purchased a cargo and set out
for Nantucket. On this voyage, he was again
chased by pirates, but he escaped them as night
came on. However, his boat struck upon a rock
and was so injured that he had to return home for
repairs. As soon as the repairs were made, he set
out again for Nantucket and arrived in safety.
On his return trip, however, he fell into the hands
of pirates and was robbed of all he had except his
boat. He made his way home, secured a small
cargo and again directed his course towards Nan
tucket, where he sold his cargo to advantage.

On his return to his home this time, he secured
a small covered boat of about twelve tons, hired

PAUL CUFFE [ 255

some one to assist him, and made advantageous
voyages to different parts of Connecticut.

He now became attached to a young woman —
a descendant of his mother's tribe — whom he mar
ried. After his marriage he worked on a farm for
a short while, then removed his family to a small
house on the Westport River. He procured a boat
of eighteen tons in which he sailed to the banks of
St. George, obtained a valuable cargo of codfish
and landed at home safely.

Cuffe soon entered partnership with his
brother-in-law and built a vessel of twenty-five
tons, in which they made voyages to Newfound
land and Belle Isle, securing profits enough to
build a vessel of forty-two tons.

After the death of Cuffe's father he learned to
read, write and do some arithmetic and yet he of ten
said, "I would have made fewer mistakes and a
great deal more money had I been an educated
man." He called the people of his neighborhood
together and spoke to them on the need of a
schoolhouse and a teacher for their children. No
two of the parents seemed to agree on anything.
They talked and discussed and separated, each
going to his own home. Paul Cuffe took the mat
ter into his own hands, erected a schoolhouse on
his own land and opened it to the public.

256 ] UNSUNG HEROES

With this task completed, he set out to the
Straits of Belle Isle on a whaling expedition, with
two boats and ten men. Although he was ill pre
pared for the business, he and his crew killed six
whales; two of which died at Paul's own hands.
In due season he returned home heavily laden
with bone and oil.

After selling his cargo, he bought iron and
other materials, built a schooner of sixty-nine
tons and launched it, in 1795, under the name of
"The Ranger". He sold his two boats and placed
on board "The Ranger", which was manned by a
black crew, a cargo valued at two thousand dol
lars, and sailed for Norfolk, Virginia. This trip
and similar ones brought him handsome returns.

With some of this money he bought a farm
and placed it under the management of his broth
er-in-law. He also took one-half share in building
and fitting out a large vessel, and three- fourths'
share in building and fitting out still a larger one.
One of these vessels, of one hundred and sixty-two
tons burden, was commanded by Paul Cuffe's
nephew. The other one, "The Alpha" by name,
of two hundred and sixty-eight tons, was com
manded by Paul Cuffe himself, with seven other
Negroes making up the crew.

In 1811, Paul Cuffe and his crew, in command

PAUL CUFFE [257

of "The Alpha" sailed for Sierra Leone, Africa.
After many days of travel and stormy sea, they
arrived in Sierra Leone. Cuffe, attended by sev
eral natives, made his way to the governor's office,
where he remained for a long conversation and
visit with the Governor.

Following this, he entered into many of the
natives' experiences. He put on armor and went
elephant-hunting with them. Once he joined a
party on a leopard hunt. One of the party said in
his native tongue, "These leopards go about in
pairs, and sometimes raid farms and carry off
young children and chickens after dark. They
step rather softly, steal upon one and attack him
in the back". When the party reached a certain
spot, every one stopped. Some of them proceeded
to drive down two posts. Others loaded a long-
range gun heavily and fastened it to these posts
with the butt end resting on the posts and the
muzzle about two feet from them. Then they
placed a big piece of meat around the muzzle of
the gun and drew a strong string round one of
the posts connecting the meat to the trigger. All
was in readiness now for Mr. Leopard; and so
the party left the spot. After a long wait a leopard
came walking softly by and sniffing around. He
walked up to the meat to take a bite. "Pow",

258 ] UNSUNG HEROES

went the rifle. The leopard fell dead. Paul Cuffe
and his party came out from their hiding place,
and stood around looking at the beast.

Cuffe seemed very busy, even on such trips,
studying the needs of natives and planning how
the people in London might help them. One morn
ing a monkey party came to take him along. He
could not resist the invitation. Every one in the
party had a sword or a stick. Several monkeys
were caught that day and brought in tied hand
and foot and hung on poles. The suckling ones
were carried clinging underneath their mothers'
bodies. Cuffe continued to study the natives and
finally recommended to the Governor that they
form ''The Friendly Society of Sierra Leone" as
a help to the people.

After this was done, he went to England on
two trips. Then he returned to the United States
in order to get teachers to take back with him, but
the War of 1812 broke out, and his plans were
delayed. For several years he had to remain in
the United States. All this time, however, he
was arranging to take teachers to Sierra Leone.

Toward the end of the year 1815, he sailed with
thirty-eight teachers for Sierra Leone. For fifty-
five days they were tossed and driven on the ocean.
Even African soil, they said, was a welcome sight

PAUL CUFFE [259

to them. They finally reached their destination
safely. Cuffe bore the entire expense of the trip.

He remained in Sierra Leone two months, dur
ing which time he wrote a very touching letter to
the natives. It is said that his departure from them
was like that of a father taking leave of his
children.

Cuffe returned to his own country, where he
became ill early in 1817. From then until the day
of his death, on the seventh of the following Sep
tember, he was busy writing letters and making
friends for the natives of Sierra Leone. Some one
has said that he devoted even the thoughts of
his dying pillow to the interests of the African
people.

ALEXANDER CRUMMELL

Chapter XVI

ALEXANDER CRUMMELL

MINISTER AND MISSIONARY
1819-1898

ONE moonlight night about eighty- four years
ago, a stage-coach rattled along from Han
over, New Hampshire, towards Albany, New
York. Away up on the top of this stage-coach,
sat two fast friends, Alexander Crummell and
Henry Highland Garnet, and twelve other Negro
boys. Apparently not even the rattle of the stage
coach wheels, or the jingle of the traces, or the
hoot of an owl far off in the woods, disturbed their
thoughts. It is true, they had been riding all day
and had been under excitement for two days be
fore they left the little town of Canaan near
Hanover, but they neither slept nor stirred.

A thoughtless gang of Canaan boys had yoked
about one hundred and ninety oxen together and
driven them up to the little schoolhouse. Here and
there, one ox tried to go one way while his mate
tried to go the other way, but several yoke of
them did team-work. They later bowed their necks
and chased off through the woods, with the boys

[263]

264 ] UNSUNG HEROES

swinging to the lines and bumping against stumps
and logs and trees. Finally, with the assistance
of big boys, these unruly animals were brought
back to the schoolhouse, to which the oxen were
hitched.

At the crack of many long whips and the sound
of loud calls, "Get up there, now! Pull steady",
the oxen gave a mighty pull, and the sides of the
little schoolhouse began to crack.

After two days of being pulled and pushed
about, the little schoolhouse tottered into the
swamp. The village boys, who had declared they
would not let the Negro boys remain there and go
to school, gave a cheer and a whoop. Still more
excitement followed until Crummell and his
friends took the stage-coach en route for their
homes.

This bitter experience seemed only to sharpen
Crummeirs desire for an education. In a few
months, he was off again to a school some distance
from New York City — his birthplace and home.
After his graduation from that school, a cere
mony was performed and he became a priest in the
Episcopal Church.

He worked at home a while, and then crossed
the Atlantic Ocean and preached throughout
England. While he was there, he entered a great

ALEXANDER CRUMMELL [265

university known as Cambridge University, from
which he was graduated at the age of thirty-four.

Crummell often spoke of wishing to return to
the United States to see his family and friends,
but because of poor health, he went to Africa to
do missionary work and, as he said, to die. Strange
to say, the hot climate and the African fever
seemed to disturb him not at all ; in fact, his health
improved.

For twenty years, he remained there and
preached to the people, and taught in the Liberian
College. The natives often asked why he kept
at his writing so closely. Later they discovered
that he was writing a book called "The Future
of Africa".

During his twenty years in Africa, he made
only two visits to the United States. In 1873 he
returned for good and took charge of an Epis
copal Mission in Washington, D. C. He presided
over this Mission, which developed into what is
now St. Luke's Church, for twenty-two years.
Often during these years, he went by invitation to
the leading cities of the country, either to preach
or to give lectures. In 1896, he founded "The
American Negro Academy" at Washington,
D. C., and gave some lectures before this or
ganization.

266 ] UNSUNG HEROES

He was a striking character, tall, erect and of
noble carriage. He was dignified and fearless in
manner, yet easy to approach.

During the last year of his life, he worked at
his desk from six to seven hours every day, when
he was able to write. Finally, for a little change,
he went to Point Pleasant, New Jersey, and while
there, passed away on the tenth of September,
1898. Just a few hours before his death, he dic
tated a letter to Paul Laurence Dunbar on the
philosophy of poetry.

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON

Chapter XVII

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON

SCHOLAR AND CONGRESSMAN
1829-1897

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON was a frail
J child, only four years old, when his father and
mother died. According to the will of his father,
Captain Quarrels, he and his two brothers were
to have all of their father's land, lying on Hickory
Creek in Louisa County, Virginia. They were
to have all of his stock of horses, cattle, sheep and
bees, together with household and kitchen furni
ture and plantation utensils. They were also to
have all of his money, in cash or in the form of
debts due or bank stocks. Provision was made in
Captain Quarrels's will for selling his property
and dividing the money among John Mercer and
his other boys, should they leave Louisa County.

The time came when this provision in the will
was to be carried out. John Mercer and his broth
ers, with their attendants, remained in Louisa
County two months after their father's death, get
ting ready to start for Ohio.

During this period of preparation, they secured

[269]

270 ] UNSUNG HEROES

the proper papers to take on such a journey. They
and their attendants obtained a carry-all — a light
wagon with horses and harness — and set out early
one October morning, in 1834, to what was then
known as a far-away state — Ohio. The road over
which they traveled was mountainous and fre
quently broken by small swollen streams which
they had to ford, and rivers which they had to
cross by means of crude ferries. However, there
seemed to be no cause for anxiety except for little,
frail John Mercer.

They continued their journey for one week,
traveling by day and pitching their tents at night.
One evening while some one was unhitching the
horses, and two of them were pitching the tent,
and John Mercer and the rest of them were bring
ing water from a nearby stream, a man on horse
back with saddle bags came down the highway.
The older Langston boys, recognizing him as their
half-brother, whom their father had sent to Ohio
long before his death, ran to meet him. Little
John Mercer, whom he had never seen before, he
took up in his arms, caressed him and looked at
him, saying, "My! but you are like my dear
mother, Lucy Langston! You have in a marked
degree her Indian family likeness!" All of the
boys made their way to the tent. The night passed.

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON [ 271

The next day as the party proceeded on its
journey, the half-brother shortened the stirrup
leathers of his saddle to fit John Mercer's legs,
and put him in his saddle. John Mercer took hold
of the bridle reins timidly, but soon began to
knock his little legs against the sides of the horse,
saying, "Get up, sir". At length, he seemed weary
and was again taken into the battered carry-all.
They traveled on for two weeks longer, until they
reached Chillicothe, Ohio.

John Mercer was taken to the home of Colonel
Gooch, who once on a visit to Captain Quarrels,
had promised that when John Mercer came to
Ohio he would care for him and educate him.
John Mercer was given a hot bath, his clothing
was changed, and a chair was placed at the table
for him by the side of Mrs. Gooch. He ate heart
ily, romped and played, and grew rapidly under
the kind treatment of the Gooch family. Soon he
was known to the neighbors as "Johnnie Gooch".

Four years for him in the Gooch home passed.
One beautiful Monday morning, in 1837, he, with
his little new dinner-pail in one hand, and his book
in the other, accompanied by Mr. Gooch, started
out to school. Clad in his neat dress of round
about and pants of Kentucky blue jeans, he and

272 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Mr. Gooch trudged along until they reached the
schoolhouse.

John Mercer was soon assigned to his class and
his seat. As he sat upon the high seat without a
back, he almost toppled over backwards. Then,
apparently afraid of falling backwards, he leaned
so far forward that he fell over on his nose. He
twisted and turned on the tiresome seat for sev
eral days, then told his teacher that he was needed
at home at two o'clock every day to drive up the
cows. For one week he went home every day at
two o'clock. Mr. Gooch asked the reason for John
Mercer's early arrival home every day, and in
formed the teacher that John Mercer's whole
business was to attend school.

Many agents were in Chillicothe at this time
telling of the rich farm land in Missouri that could
be bought very cheaply. The Gooch family was
among the old residents who were selling out and
preparing to leave for Missouri. They chartered
a canal-boat and a steamboat for moving their
things, and planned for a wagon and team to
take the family across the country. Mr. Gooch
called John Mercer in and asked if he wished to
go with them. John Mercer replied, "I do, Colonel
Gooch".

"Then you shall go", said the colonel.

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON [ 273

When everything was in readiness, the family
set out one night on their journey. The next
morning, John Mercer spied two objects in the
distance coming towards them. As they ap
proached, he saw that they were two men, and one
of them was his half-brother. The other gentle
man made himself known at once as the sheriff,
who had come to arrest Colonel Gooch for kid
napping John Mercer. Colonel Gooch, obeying
orders, saddled his horse, took John Mercer up
behind him and rode with the men back to Chilli-
cothe. The court ruled that John Mercer should
be left there.

Upon the advice of some one, he returned to the
old Gooch home and farm, which were now in the
hands of another. The first question the man
asked was, "What, sir, can you do?"

John Mercer promptly answered, "I can't do
anything".

The farmer then asked, "How do you expect to
live? Get the horse and cart out and haul those
bricks up from the distant field". John Mercer
started forth to try to hitch the horse to the cart
and to haul the bricks.

The third day, the farmer said, "You are doing
well, and if you continue, you will make a good
driver". The boy not only hauled bricks, but he

274 ] UNSUNG HEEOES

plowed and hoed and became strong and healthy.

On leaving the farmer, he went to Cincinnati,
Ohio, and secured work for afternoons and Sat
urdays, in a barber shop. Thus was he soon able
to enter school .in that city. One day as he sat
with his class, studying his lesson, a man appeared
at the door and asked for him. His teacher said,
"John Mercer may go to the door. Some one
wishes to see him". He arose and walked forth.
At the sight of Colonel Gooch, who had sought
him in Chillicothe and had come on to Cincinnati,
he leaped out of the door and grasped his hand.
They talked for a long, long time. Mr. Gooch
kissed him good-bye, and John Mercer promised
to join him in Missouri later on.

John Mercer's two years' stay in Cincinnati
was interrupted by a call to Chillicothe, on busi
ness connected with his father's estate. While he
was on this trip, he met an Oberlin College stu
dent who was teaching in Chillicothe, and who
agreed to give him lessons. He studied under this
teacher until his brothers agreed to send him to
Oberlin College.

On Thursday morning, March 1, 1844, he and
his teacher left Chillicothe for Oberlin. When
they arrived the following Sunday morning, they
saw hundreds of college students making their

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON [ 275

way through the muddy streets to early prayer
service and Sunday School. Lodging for the
'night was secured in the only hotel then in Ober-
lin. The next day John Mercer registered and
was taken to the home in which he was to live.

Seeing how busy every one about the college
was, he secured his books and settled down to hard
study. Before many weeks had passed, he was in
vited to join two college clubs — "The Young
Men's Lyceum" and "The Union Society". Be
cause of having friends in "the Union Society",
he joined it, and was immediately called upon to
take part in a debate.

On the evening of the debate, a very capable
young man came forward as the first speaker.
When he had finished, another young man was
called forth. He, too, presented his side of the
question in a convincing manner. John Mercer
Langston was called upon as the third speaker.
He came forward, took his place on the platform
and said, "Mr. President — Mr. President". He
stood there unable to say another word. Finally
he rushed to his seat and began to cry. He wiped
away the copious tears until his handkerchief, his
cap and his coat sleeve were soaking wet. Then he
hurried to his room, threw himself on the bed and
cried until his pillow was wet through. The next

276 ] UNSUNG HEROES

morning, he arose with his face and eyes all swol
len. As he stood before his little mirror, he held
up his hands to God, with the vow that he would
never fail again in making a speech. When friends
sympathized with him, he said, "I thank you, but
never mind".

After leaving breakfast, as John Mercer
walked up the street, he met a friend who said he
was called home. Immediately he asked John
Mercer to take his place in the Society debate the
next Thursday evening. He agreed at once and
began to get ready for the debate. Thursday
evening came; the hall was full of young men.
When John Mercer was called forth, he took his
place, addressed the presiding officer and spoke
his ten minutes amid applause. Some young man
called out, "Mr. President, I move by common
consent that Langston be given ten minutes
more". The motion was carried and Langston
spoke ten minutes more, interrupted by frequent
applause.

He remained in college to the end of the fall
term, and returned to Chillicothe. No sooner had
he arrived, than a committee called upon him to
get him to teach school. Hicks Settlement, eight
miles in the country, needed a teacher. The com
mittee offered him ten dollars a month — and

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON [ 277

"board around". He accepted the position, al
though he was not quite sixteen years old. When
he reached the schoolhouse the first morning, he
says that he was more greatly surprised perhaps
than any one else, because he was smaller than
any of the pupils except one.

"Boarding around" had its surprises, too.
Every week he stayed with a different family, and
each family tried to outdo the preceding ones in
furnishing him good things to eat. Sometimes he
just had to eat and eat until he felt like a stuffed
goose. Finally he made arrangements with a
man to give him and his son lessons and thereby
obtain from them board and lodging for himself
and his horse. At the end of every month, the
school committee waited upon him and counted
out to him his ten dollars in five and ten-cent
pieces.

When Langston's three months at Hicks Set
tlement were up, he sat down with his bag of five-
and ten-cent pieces and counted out the thirty
dollars. Before many days had passed, he was on
his way back to Oberlin College.

He entered and worked hard for four years,
graduating at the age of twenty as a Bachelor of
Arts — "B.A." He continued his studies at Ober
lin and received his Master's degree — "M.A."

278 ] UNSUNG HEROES

Three years later, he was graduated from the
Oberlin Theological Seminary as a Bachelor of
Divinity — "B.D." He remained in Oberlin and
studied law under a prominent judge. When he
had finished this course, he passed his examina
tions and under great odds was admitted to the
bar in Ohio, where he practiced for a time and won
notable cases.

He often said, in later years, that around Ober
lin College centered many happy memories. He
courted and married an Oberlin College girl by
the name of Miss Wall. He settled in Oberlin
and practiced law there until the bloody Civil
War.

At that time, the United States was calling to
her aid the ablest men she could find. John Mercer
Langston was among those called. He responded
immediately and began to travel over the West
and the North getting men for the army. He
secured them for three regiments — the Fifty-
fourth and Fifty-fifth Massachusetts and the
Fifth United States of Ohio. After the war he
continued to travel for the Government for two
years and a half, helping the people organize
schools for their children.

When that work was finished, Howard Univer
sity called him to organize her Law Department.

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON [ 279

For seven years he taught in that Department,
and served for a time as Acting President of the
'University. He was admitted to practice law
before the Supreme Court of the United States.
And the President of the United States appointed
him a member of the Board of Health of the Dis
trict of Columbia.

Later on, another President appointed him
Minister to Hayti, at a salary of $7,500 a year.
After serving on that island for seven years, he
returned to the United States and soon afterward
was elected President of the Virginia State Col
lege at Petersburg. The state of Virginia claimed
him as her own son. She honored him as a scholar
ly man. She elected him to the United States
House of Representatives, in which he took his
seat in 1890.

His last years were spent with his family at his
home on College Street, Washington, District of
Columbia. Before his death, November 15, 1897,
he published a book of addresses called "Freedom
and Citizenship".

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